


Three Strikes

by goodmorningvietnam666



Series: Batter Up! [1]
Category: Daredevil (Comics), Hawkeye (Comics), Iron Man (Comic), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Clint Barton is a badass, Clint broods a lot, Clint doesn't have a lot of friends, Delicate Plot, Humor, Lots of killing, Lots of secrets and plot twists, M/M, Nick Fury is kind of nice, Nicknames, Sarcasm, Slow Developing Relationship, Suit and Tie events, The X-Men are here too, Tony Stark Does What He Wants, Tony Stark is hilarious, Violence, also Stan Lee gets a cameo, and he isn't good at keeping them, but he does try, but only breifly, carnivals, he also owes Clint naps, tomfoolery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-21
Updated: 2014-06-19
Packaged: 2018-01-02 05:09:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 47,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1052876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodmorningvietnam666/pseuds/goodmorningvietnam666
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When it comes to killing people, Clint Barton and Natasha Romanov are as good as it gets, but the Black Widow is on her own private, very important, no Barton you can't go with her missions; and so the back and forth, kill them and get out missions that don't pay well are left with Clint. SHIELD also keeps getting their top secret, no peeking files stolen by HYDRA and Clint can't place why that is, either way he chases them down as well.</p>
<p>And on top of all of that mess: he has to live with Tony Stark. </p>
<p>He was going to KILL Fury</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Deception Is An Art

**Author's Note:**

> This was once a differently named, longer story, but now I'm making it better, I've put a lot of work into it so far but before posting the whole work here (once its done) I want to know what I'm going to get for feedback, so, I'm using the first chapter as a teaser trailer of sorts. 
> 
> Please note that I prefer to use the comics as my point of reference for physical description and behaviors, so if anything is off and you're thinking of the movies: that's exactly why.
> 
> As always, review and give feedback as it's always welcome!

Clint Barton was not a reasonable man. He had always, **always** had trouble with authority and it was rare when he'd listen to his superiors, the archer wondered at times how SHIELD and Director Fury put up with him. He was defiant, stubborn, bull-headed and short tempered; he never did things the way he was told to, and he most definitely did **not** take orders from arrogant, foolhardy, billionaires with expensive toys and massive egos. 

He'd never have assumed that one day he would be spending his days living in such a man’s mansion. 

The events that led up to his stay in said mansion were normal, and the archer had expected nothing until the day when Agent Coulson, who _always_ seemed to be running errands for Fury, came to his mess of an apartment and told him that he was to be placed at a new residence for an assignment. Clint had jumped at the thought that he wouldn’t be in the unorganised space that was his apartment for a long time. Then, the other agent had said that the place of residence was chosen because of its distance, seclusion, and the fact that he would be completing multiple missions that could earn multiple enemies. The archer hadn’t minded that, and made a note to take all of his valuables with him, heading for a duffle bag as Agent Coulson gave him the address, saying that the owner of the residence knew everything Clint did and that he wouldn’t have to explain anything. 

After the brief, Clint had pulled his leather jacket over his shoulders, placed his motorbike’s helmet on his head, and drove the motor vehicle to what would be his temporary residence.


	2. Traps Are Part Of The Process

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint learns of the owner of his new home, and doesn't like what he finds out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just adding in another chapter for a little more insight to the story, as the first chapter is a short one.

Clint leant on his bike in the comfortable heat of the sun in Malibu, phone held to his ear as he waited for someone to pick up. 

_“Barton, what are you ringing Fury for?”_ Clint was surprised to hear the familiar feminine voice of Natasha Romanoff across the line. 

“I am NOT staying with Stark” Clint said firmly “Not even a million dollars could keep me here”

 _“Ah, so you finally figured out that Fury is devious and you're not happy… Clint, look, this is your golden opportunity to really rack up some attention and maybe get on Stark’s good side… you never know where that’ll take you”_ Natasha responded calmly, reasoning with the head-strong archer on the line. 

Clint sighed “I only do this because you've said it will be good for me, if it turns out to be a horrible experience I’m coming for you first”

_"And I'll be waiting to taze you or something"_ Natasha replied, unaffected by Clint’s threat to hurt her, after that, she hung up the phone and sat at Fury’s desk for a moment, thinking over SHIELD’s decision to force Barton to put up with Stark and wondered exactly how that would go for the most self-opinionated, order defying people she had ever met. 

Clint wheeled his bike over the sandy driveway, eyes watching the large, expansive mansion in front of him. It sat on the edge of a small cliff, overlooking the vast ocean beneath it, the building was a white colour and its windows were tinted to an almost black; Clint took notice of the small ramp cascading down into what he assumed was the garage. 

Resting his bike on its kickstand Clint walked up to the front door of the house and knocked twice, leaning against the wall jutting out to create the right amount of shade over the entrance. 

The door opened after minutes of waiting and there was the man who Clint absolutely despised: Tony Stark, genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist and overall thorn in SHIELD’s side. The older man looked the same as ever, neatly trimmed beard, ruffled hair, eyes shining with intelligence and height still at 6’1’’ (A good thing for Clint because at least he had something on the other Avengers: his height… excluding Thor). 

“What the heck are you doing here?” Stark asked, leaning against the doorframe and folding his arms over an old looking Black Sabbath t-shirt. 

“So SHIELD didn’t brief you… typical” Clint responded, scoffing lightly at his agency’s deception. 

Stark’s face took on a smug grin “No… they briefed me alright, I just assumed that Agent Coulson was the one paying me a ‘yearlong visit’ and not you, the…. What are you again? An archer?” 

Clint clenched his jaw, biting back the cruel words on his tongue, and shook his head “Coulson has never been one for long visits, nor has he been one for billionaires with huge egos” 

“Ouch Hawkeye” Stark responded, feigning a hurt look “I can’t believe you’d think of me that way” After saying this, the genius’s gaze left the archers to note that there was a pristine looking motorbike in his driveway, a deep purple in colour, paintwork shining in the sunlight. “That pretty thing yours?” 

“Yeah… It is” Clint responded, surprised by the sudden change in subjects of conversation “It’s the only expensive thing I own, aside from my bows” 

“Bows, as in you own more than one?” Stark responded, obvious disbelief in his voice as he watched the archer carefully, waiting for the quick tempered man to snap at him; or worse: punch him in the face. 

Well, yeah, I have different draw weights, sights, flexibility and portability” Clint responded “It helps when a certain mission calls for something specific… I brought all of them” 

“Well it’s a good thing that this mansion is spacious” the genius replied “Get that bike into the garage and I’ll meet you down there… welcome to casa de Stark” after saying this, the older man went back into the house and Clint heard the sound of the garage door hissing open. 

Remounting his bike, Clint crawled his vehicle into the garage, being careful not to hit the several cars already in the huge space. Taking in the expansive space, the archer noted that not only was it a garage but it was Stark’s workshop, with several Iron Man suits displayed at the end of the room. 

“Neat isn't it? I've always liked this one better than New York…” Stark’s voice came from the entrance of the space, which assumedly led to the rest of the mansion. The genius moved about the room with this grace that Clint had never witnessed before, instead of strutting or sauntering as he almost always did. Stark seemed to stride with vigour, as if being in the space gave him more purpose; which Clint assumed was more than likely the case. 

“I wouldn’t say neat Stark…” Clint responded, a soft smirk on his face “I’d say messy… but it is impressive to say the least”  
Stark responded with a chuckle, it sounded genuine, unlike the other occurrences when the genius laughed: they were usually to mock the person. The archer had never once heard the older man laugh at something with true humour, and never once had he heard of the man being anything other than detached with people. 

“So… Hawkeye, how does this work? I mean I get that this is now your “base of operations” but how do you receive the missions and whatnot?” Stark asked, pulling Clint back into the conscious world and away from his musings. 

“They’ll probably call me” Clint responded, shrugging as he pulled his jacket off and collected his three duffel bags from his bike “Where am I crashing then?” 

“Nowhere, I hope” the genius answered smartly, before grinning and gesturing for Clint to follow him. 

The archer followed along behind Stark, taking in the expensive features of the mansion, watching the genius stride through the house with confidence and grace, before coming to a halt at one door. 

"Welcome to your new bedroom” Stark announced, smiling at the archer and opening the door for him. 

“This is two times the size of my apartment” Clint breathed, taking in the space. 

“That honestly does not surprise me” Stark responded smugly “SHIELD said you’d be shocked” 

“SHIELD said that did they?” Clint inquired doubtfully, watching the genius from the corner of his eye, waiting for the man to say what he thought he would. He had caught him in a lie, oh how wonderful. 

“No, I knew you’d be shocked, it was only a matter of waiting, not that I knew it would be you but still… anyone would be shocked” Stark rambled, folding his arms once more and leaning on the doorframe. 

“Anyway, get settled in and we’ll grab some lunch or something” the genius finalised this by turning and leaving the room, footsteps fading away slowly. 

Clint laughed in disbelief at his situation, dropping his bags and hanging his jacket on the doorknob, unzipping the first bag and unpacking it dutifully.  
It had been a long time since he’d boarded in another person’s house, an even longer one since said person had been rich, and Clint planned to get this godforsaken year over with and go home. He would not put up with Stark any longer than he had to. 

And he was determined to shove something sharp and barbed into Fury’s only eye. 


	3. When You Run Out of Ideas...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint receives his first "one stop, one kill" mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm trying not to be picky with my numbers now, and will update a new chapter every month, which should hopefully give me enough time to finish the story before I run out of chapters... otherwise we'll play it by ear.
> 
> Happy Reading!

Clint’s first assignment didn’t arrive until a week after he’d settled in: the worst week of his SHIELD career if that was possible. The archer was off to Calicut, a 22 hour flight from Los Angeles to Kozhikode and then he would be commuting to the spot to kill a target for a low fund.

At least he was away from Stark.

Stepping off from the train and into the crowds Clint watched the tall buildings for a possible vantage point in order to maintain a clear shot: quick, simple, no mistakes. His bow rested, folded up neatly inside his duffel bag, at his hip and his quiver, sat against his back, the strap hugging his chest comfortably. The archer’s keens eyes caught the sight of a well-covered point on one particular roof about three miles from the railway line.

The archer jumped on another form of transport and listened to the untranslatable Malayalam that the people around him spoke and soon after Clint was planning on how he would get up to the roof of the building without being stopped.

It took a lot of arguing with the owner, and eventually Clint, the impatient man he was, flashed his SHIELD badge at the owner and immediately he was let pass and told in broken English how to get to the roof.

Clint had always been a huge fan of high places, the feeling of wind in his hair and the sun or moon on his back as he set up for a good shot. Normally, a sniper would bring his specialised high powered rifle and spend hours calibrating it. That was the beauty of a bow and arrow: it took no calibration; the aim was all on the user.

Dropping his duffle bag on the sun baked roof, Clint dug through it and pulled his collapsible bow from the carrier, unfolding it and staring down the weapon, making sure he really did have a clear shot from his point.

From the roof, Clint could see the rail line and the trains on it, and knew his target was on the 435 on the second carriage at approximately 3:35 pm. With a quick check of his watch Clint learned that it was three o’clock now, and began to set up, stretching his back and shoulders, relaxing his muscles for a smooth shot; he tested his focus, drawing it in and out in gentle intervals, then blinking a few times to readjust his eyes. Finally, the archer pulled on arrow from its quiver and checked its sharpness, nodding to himself when he felt the twinge of a sharp surface against his skin.

Hooking the arrow onto the string and lining it up with the train line, breathing slowly and evenly and checking the time, finding that he’d spent half an hour organising himself. Drawing the arrow slowly, Clint felt his shoulders tighten and breathed, relaxing the muscles considerably as he watched the train line. Clint could hold the arrow, drawn and poised, for an incredibly long time, he’d taught himself how to remain steady, and how to keep his muscles from becoming sore or strained. On the bow he was using, which had a 55lb draw weight, he could hold the draw for approximately an hour before he started shaking and losing accuracy; five minutes of pull was nothing to the archer.

The train was hooking around the turn and Clint followed it with his eyes, already aiming on instinct at an unoccupied area of the train line. The archer would never be able to explain it, but he had a knack for hitting targets no matter what, it was instinctive and he’d never taught anyone how because he simply couldn’t. His mentors: the Swordsman and Trickshot had always said he had a natural ability for aiming and firing.

Clint released the string with a long outtake of breath and watched it fly, piercing through the window of the train and into the head of his target, ending the man’s life instantly. He had been a HYDRA agent, one who had infiltrated SWORD and had gathered serious details about their weapons systems, now that he was dead, the information wouldn’t get out; but Clint wasn’t finished with Calicut yet.

He stood at the next stop for the 435 and noted how many people hurried to get off. Stepping onto the train, Clint moved swiftly over to the dead HYDRA agent and picked through his bags and pockets with gloved hands, acquiring various belongings, files and the data SWORD had lost. Finally, Clint pulled a coffee stained letter from the man’s coat pocket as the train took off from the platform. Sitting down next to the dead man and tilting his head away from the bloodied temple of his victim the archer opened the letter curiously.

_Hawkeye of SHIELD_

_A warning to you as you read this, we know where you are and we know how to get to you, if you do not comply with our wishes then you will be shot just as our agent has been by you. Bring the items you have acquired to our agent at the next stop or perish._

_HYDRA._

Clint smirked and placed the letter back in the dead agent’s pocket, then pulled a piece of paper from his duffle and scrawled a quick letter, placing it next to the dead man, pulling the arrow from his head and resting it over the letter, then leaving a small rounded object in the pocket of the dead man.

The archer moved to the back of the train, opened the door and jumped out, rolling to minimize the impact. Standing and dusting his hands off, Clint moved off of the train tracks and began wandering back to the airport.

///

The HYDRA agent stepped onto the train, taking in the desolate carriage as he moved through it, ready for a foolhardy attack from Hawkeye. He found no such threat, and a bloodied arrow resting over a pristine piece of paper warranted his attention. Picking it up the agent read it curiously.

_HYDRA agent,_

_You might want to try locking the carriage doors **before** threatening me… I hope you like the gift I left you._

The agent frowned, not understanding, before turning away from the dead man and moving to exit the train. A small beep sounded twice, and the carriage imploded.


	4. You Improvise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint returns "home" and learns a few things about the guy he detests

Clint returned to Malibu three days later, having dropped off the information at SHIELD and debriefing then and there, then riding back to California and, of course, Tony Stark. 

The genius was in the kitchen when Clint returned, a glass of scotch resting on the countertop as Stark leaned over a fry pan that was frying bacon, then delicious smell of cooked meat filling the room. Black Sabbath’s “Sabbath Bloody Sabbath” was playing in the background. 

“I was wondering when you’d get back” Stark commented, opening the cupboard beneath him with his bare foot and stooping down to take two plates and placing them on the counter beside his scotch.

“A bit early for alcohol, don’t you think?” Clint asked, placing his duffle bag on the table beside him and moving further into the kitchen, pulling open a drawer and taking two knives and two forks from it, placing them with the plates, then scouring the kitchen for a toaster.

“What on earth are you doing?” Stark asked, watching both Clint and the food he was cooking at regular intervals.

“Looking for a toaster” Clint responded, shuffling through another cupboard and closing the door when his search turned up nothing. He then moved onto the next.

“What for?” Stark asked incredulously, cracking an egg on the side of the pan and spilling the contents onto the hot surface.

“Toast, what else would a toaster be used for?” The archer snapped half-heartedly, changing to searching through the overhead cupboards.

“Okay, two things” Stark began, moving the cooking meat to the side as he put another egg into the pan “First thing: I’m cooking so stop being rude to me, second thing: you can make pop tarts, waffles, cooked bread…” the genius rattled off a small list as he watched Hawkeye sift through his cupboards with mild amusement.

Clint froze, hand hovering over the object he was looking for “Toast is cooked bread Stark” continuing with his task, he pulled the toaster from its cupboard, plugged it in and took bread out of the long cupboard in the kitchen.

“Toast is burnt bread; because when you have it it’s raw but then you cook it a little it’s only sort of warm” The genius replied, pausing in his cooking to take a long drink from his glass of scotch, the ice clinking in the tumbler. 

“No, burnt bread is burnt toast” Clint argued, placing two slices of toast in to toaster and pushing them down to cook “You know, when it actually goes black and tastes like shit?”

Stark scoffed lightly “No, you’re wrong, I’m the genius: I’m right”

“Not all the time” Clint retorted, almost flinching when the toaster popped and then taking the ‘cooked bread’ and placing it on the plates. 

“No, **all** the time, as in everyday, twenty four hours” the genius reiterated, placing equal amounts of bacon and an egg each on the toast after turning off the stove and downing the last of his scotch. 

The archer snorted “Explain Natasha Romanoff then” he smirked and took his plate, along with its cutlery to the dining table and eating almost immediately.

“She doesn’t count” Stark argued, sitting down across from Clint and eating as well “I was wrongly seduced by her good looks… it should be illegal for men and women to wear anything that accentuates their good looks” 

“What are you a feminist?” Clint asked, watching the genius almost dissect his food before he began putting it in his mouth.

“I said men” Stark retorted “I just think that our bodies shouldn’t be sexualised the way they are... they’re natural and yet we treat them as if people are gifted with breasts or whatever…”

“Coming from the playboy who takes girls home every other night” the archer said quietly, placing his knife and fork on his now empty plate and glancing up at the genius, confused by the look of sadness that seemed to flit across his features, before it cancelled out.

“So, how was India? I hear it’s nice weather in July” Stark asked, changing the subject quickly and returning to eating the food he’d cooked.

“It was warm, but crowded so I did feel overexposed…” Clint began “Other than that the people were the same as Americans, they just didn’t speak a lot of English”

“It’s funny how’s it’s referred to as English and yet we’ve changed the grammar anyway” Stark responded, standing and taking both his and Clint’s plate and putting them in the sink “Well, I’m going to go and work on some suit upgrades… the house is yours just don’t…. don’t wreck it” 

Clint watched as the genius left to go and lose himself in his work before jumping as his phone rang against his pocket, singing out the opening to “Sweet Child O’ Mine” by Guns N Roses. Flipping the phone’s screen up and pressing the device to his ear, the archer answered his phone. 

“Barton here” It was definitive, a simple announcement that he was reporting for duty even when he was relaxed.

_“I hear you blew up a train?”_ It was Agent Coulson; the calm, authoritative voice could only be Clint’s adoptive father. 

Clint scoffed “No, only the second carriage, I put that in my report sir, didn’t you see it?” 

_“No, a minor agent was reading it over and came rushing into the Director’s office to tell him that you blew up a train”_ the older agent replied patiently _“It’s nice to know that’s not the case”_

“You wound me sir” Clint countered playfully, standing up and reacquiring his duffle bag, making his way to his room.

_“Yes I know I’m a horrible person to you”_ Agent Coulson replied boredly _“I hear this often”_

The archer chuckled “Anything new at all?” 

_“Romanoff is on a mission in Romania, and you can imagine how happy she is with that”_ the older agent answered. 

“I’ll bet she hates Fury as much as I do right now” Clint responded, placing the phone on his bedside table and setting it to loud speaker, beginning to unstrap and unbuckle the latches of his uniform, first pulling off the leather gloves on his hands. 

_“No one hates the Director as much as you do”_ Coulson responded, chuckling slightly _“Either way yes, Romanoff isn’t happy… expect her to vocalise it to you soon”_

“Thanks for the warning” Clint remarked, pulling his shirt up and over his head, placing the article of clothing on the bed in front of him. 

_“She’s using a new number”_ Coulson added _“So don’t answer any unknown callers”_

“You’re a saint sir” the archer said, pulling his boots off and almost falling over in the process “Listen, I need a shower so I’ll talk to you soon”

_“Play nice with Stark, he might surprise you”_ After saying this, the older agent hung up.

Clint rolled his eyes and continued undressing, stepping into the joint bathroom and turning the shower handles, waiting until the water warmed before stepping under the stream. The warm water eased his tense muscles, and rid his body of sweat, dirt and anything else that was staining the archer’s skin. Calloused fingers ran through dirt blonde hair in gentle sweeps as Clint stood underneath the gentle stream of water, eyes closed to the world around him.  
He thought on the previous mission, about HYDRA and its involvement with himself… how had they known that he would be there? Did that mean that SHIELD had a double agent in its midst? Had he slipped up? Clint couldn’t remember a time when he’d given away his identity or when he might have referred to himself as Hawkeye… 

Confused and thoughtful, Clint stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist, taking a long look at himself in the mirror. 

Throughout his years as a SHIELD agent, he had earned dozens of scars, but most were small or insignificant and not something noticed until someone knew where to look. There was one scar that made the archer flinch whenever he saw it; he had earned it after being shot by his mentor in the shoulder. The scar was one long, jagged line, two inches long close to his collar bone. 

Blue met blue when Clint stared at his reflection, watching his mirror image’s eyes with his own.

When? When had he messed up enough to jeopardise his guise and earn himself a place on HYDRA’s hit list? 

Sighing in frustration, Clint dried himself and moved back into the bedroom, retiring under the soft sheets and closing his eyes, drifting off in a matter of minutes.  
  
///  
  
“Rise and shine agent” the call was made in addition to something soft and square hitting his head with fair force “It’s five in the evening… have you really been sleeping all day? Do you know how bad that is for your sleep pattern?”

It was Stark, sitting on the edge of his bed with a smug look on his face, hands covered in dried oil and a smidge of the black substance dashed across his cheekbone. His hair, which was in a constant state of messy, was standing on ends in some places and flattened down in others. 

Clint snorted involuntarily and covered his mouth with his right hand, using his left to prop himself up: Stark looked ridiculous. 

“Here” the archer began, shuffling forward, being sure to keep the sheets on him above his waist, and making an attempt at rubbing the oil off of Stark’s face “Did you have a war with a machine down there?” 

The genius sent Clint a look of amusement and turned his head into the archer’s hand “Dummy got a hold of the oil, I had to fight it from him” 

“He sure does have a thing for mess” Clint responded, licking his thumb and applying it to Stark’s face again, receiving a noise of protest from the older man “Don’t be a child, it won’t come off” 

Stark scoffed, batting the archer’s hand away and standing up “I’m not a child, you’re a child… anyway, I’ll be around… get up, don’t get up… I really don’t care” the genius then exited the room, and Clint heard the sound of a phone ringing, then Stark’s voice answering it. 

The archer got out of bed and dressed in faded black jeans and a blue shirt that was sitting, rumpled and creased, in one of his duffle bags. Leaving his room, Clint searched the space to find the man he was looking for, sitting on the head of one of the couches in the large living room.

“No, that can’t be right… well yes I understand that but…. Okay, alright, I’ll talk to him…. Yeah okay I said I would! Can you not be mean to me for two- Okay, bye” 

Clint watched with slight amusement as Stark hung up the phone, frowning slightly “I don’t understand women” the genius said, tossing the phone rhythmically and catching it without looking.

The archer laughed loudly, leaning against the window behind him and folding his arms “Work calling you?”

“No, just Agent Hill reminding me that I have to tell you that anonymity is key… gosh she really annoys me with her whole ‘You have to do what I say because I’m Fury’s second in command” attitude” Stark responded, catching the phone once more before pocketing it and standing to pace slowly “And of course on top of that is Fury’s hatred for me… his personal vendetta is getting hard to deal with, what with Stark Industries plummeting and….” The genius trailed off for a moment and smiled at Clint sheepishly “Sorry…”

The archer shrugged “It’s okay, I knew you rambled and complained but I didn’t think it was this serious” 

Stark grinned, chuckling quietly “It was just… there. I don’t know what came over me…” 

Clint pushed off of the window gently, and walked over to the older man, placing a hand on the genius’s shoulder “You need a day off Stark” 

The genius scoffed, closing his eyes and sighing heavily “If I take a day off, not only will SHIELD and Stark Industries panic, but Fury will have a reason to disband me from the Avengers” 

The archer frowned “I’ll deal with Fury, you and I are going out”


	5. If That Doesn't Work...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint learns that he and Stark can actually get along.... if he refrains from rearranging the genius's face once in a while.

The door just wouldn’t open. 

Clint cursed once more as he slipped and the key missed the slot for Stark’s front door, smirking when he heard the genius chuckle behind him. They had gone out and drank, probably too much by the shakiness of the archer’s hands. Clint made small noise of triumph as the door clicked open and both he and Stark stumbled through, gripping each other tightly in order to stay upright. Laughing quietly, the pair, after closing the front door behind them, entered the house with their arms wrapped around each other’s midriff supportively. They stopped at Stark’s room, still laughing quietly.

“This is me” the genius said, before snorting with laughter “Actually it’s **all** me…” the older man managed to add before falling into a tirade of intoxicated laughter.

Clint snickered “You’re a good looking house Stark” the archer teased, swaying slightly where he stood.

Stark laughed loudly in response “I am _sexy_ , none can deny it... but sexy people need sleep… goodnight Hawkeye” after saying this, the genius retired to his room, leaving Clint to stumble to his own room and collapse on the bed, still clothed without the sheets to cover him, and fell asleep.

///

Clint woke up the next morning with a splitting headache and groaned as light filtered through his eyelids, rolling over and burying his head into the pillow beneath him. 

The archer could hear his head pounding in the still silence of the mansion, and only closed his eyes tighter to the pain. 

Clint heard Stark walking around the mansion, senses heightened as the silence stretched on.

The piercing sound of a phone ringing caused both the archer and the billionaire to groan from the harsh noise, before the latter answered the offending device. 

“Hello... Yeah… No… I went out last night I’m a bit hung-over… what date... I can make it… Hey, before you go, can I bring a plus one? Please… Thank you!” 

Clint had given up on sleeping anymore and was out of bed, still dressed and smelling of alcohol, as he stepped out of his room. 

“You must swear that you will never take me out again” Stark said lightly from behind him “I haven’t been this hung-over in years”

The archer snorted “I swear I’ll never take you out again” 

“Good because I’m taking you out, have you ever been to a gala?” The genius asked, leaning against the wall beside him.

“Why would you want to take me?” Clint asked, watching Stark carefully… What was the man playing at?

“Because you’re a valid source of entertainment: I’m using you” Stark admitted casually “There isn’t an obligation; I’ll just ask someone else if you say no” 

“I might get another mission… so we’ll see” the archer responded, glancing between the genius and his room “I’m going to get changed”

“Good idea, try wearing purple: it’s your colour” Stark responded, walking, rather ambling off in the other direction.

Clint blinked at the empty space where Stark had been… had that been a compliment? Shaking his head, the archer moved back into his room and undressed, pulling on faded jeans and, on the advice of Stark, a form fitting purple t-shirt. Foregoing his jacket, Hawkeye left his room and headed for the kitchen, bare feet making no noise against the floor as he entered the domain. Opening the fridge and stooping down to get a better look at its contents, Clint took the jug of water that was in the fridge and acquired a glass from the cupboards. 

Whilst pouring the clear liquid, the archer tried to piece the events of the previous night together, wondering what he had done to cause Stark to treat him in an almost friendly manner. Clint said almost because he couldn’t hold a smooth conversation with the genius if he tried, and Stark wasn’t too keen on sharing personal details.   
Taking a long drink from the glass that had been full in his hand, Clint took in the silence of the house, and marvelled at how Tony Stark, the man who was probably the only one who could talk for hours on end about himself, was so quiet in his own home. The archer supposed it was because he had no one to talk to, apart from his AI, but even then the genius was limited when it came to social interaction. 

“You’re overly quiet today Hawkeye” Stark noted, walking into the room and perching himself on the countertop, legs dangling over the edge. “Something up?”

“No offense Stark, but you’re not the person I’m going to have a heart to heart with, okay?” Clint responded, closing up immediately, after all, he had only been in the genius’s company for two, almost three, weeks; he was not spilling all of his problems out to a guy he barely trusted, let alone liked. 

Stark, surprisingly, didn’t push, and shrugged his shoulders “That’s fine… But, throw me a bone here, talk to me just a little” 

Clint was surprised to find that his guess about Stark’s social interaction had been right, and that the genius really did miss talking to people. “Okay… what should we talk about?” the archer asked, folding his arms across his chest and leaning against the bench top behind him.

The genius pursed his lips and cast his gaze down at his shoes, almost like a child while they were being yelled at, and then looked back at Clint “What do you listen to?” 

Clint laughed out of surprise, smirking slightly. Of all the questions he had expected, music preferences was not one of them “Guns n’ Roses mostly… sometimes a bit of Rolling Stones… ACDC pushes it though” the archer pointed at his ear and grinned “Too high pitched” 

Stark laughed at that in the form of a loud bark “How about Zeppelin? They’ve got to be the best out of the rock genre” 

“Yeah I’ll agree with you on that one” The archer responded, smiling softly “Although their songs tend to drag”

“They tell a story, that’s what songs back then were all about” The genius responded “If Stairway to Heaven was anything like the crap from this decade, we wouldn’t get through the first verse before the song was over… I mean honestly have you heard the crap they put on the radio? I want to walk up to the music producer’s door and leave an Iron Man suit to bash him up when they walk out counting their tainted money” 

“I was expecting a death warrant” Clint responded, holding back a laugh “But you know the suit might do a better job” the archer paused for a moment to gather his thoughts before continuing “So, how did you get into engineering?” 

Stark watched him cautiously then, joking gone from his attitude almost as quickly as a fire without oxygen “My dad forced me into it when I was a kid; sure I liked it but what if I hadn’t? What if I had wanted to do something else? He was so… I just wanted to make him proud, you know? I thought that if I was good at what I did he would actually have some time for me…” The genius paused and huffed out a laugh “That was… why did I tell you that?” 

The archer shrugged “Like I said yesterday, people find me easy to talk to” 

“No shit” Stark responded “I feel like I’ve been seduced into telling you my life’s story”

“Seduced?” Hawkeye interrupted, grinning brightly “Find me attractive do you Stark?”

“Go screw yourself Hawkeye” the genius quipped “You might become less of a tight-ass” 

Clint scoffed “So how many times did it take you to become so aloof?” 

“Wow you’re a bigger dick than what the file suggests” Stark said, a small smile on his face. 

“Aw, you read my file, I’m touched” The archer responded, trying to remain unamused.

Both men remained silent for a time, before laughing loudly. 

Clint gathered that either Stark liked to be insulted, or, the more likely option enjoyed the quick witted responses that the archer gave him. It was odd, how even when Clint tried time and again to convince himself that he really didn’t like Stark, the older man continued to catch him off guard. Maybe he would enjoy his stay after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has read, left kudos, commented or bookmarked this work, it gives me a warm, fuzzy feeling when I see an email from AO3 telling me that this work has kudos!


	6. You Go Back And You Try Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint just continues to get hurt... also, Natasha's back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! So, monthly updates are so NOT possible because I'm way too excited and can't refrain from posting! Thank you to anyone and everyone who has read, commented and sent kudos so far!
> 
> This chapter actually contains my all-time favourite IronHawk scene I've ever written and received fan-art for, so I hope you enjoy it too! (You'll know it when you see it!)
> 
> Happy Reading!

The rain was dropping down in heavy sheets as Clint set up the rifle in his hands, lining up the shot as cold water soaked him to the bone even with the protection of his raincoat. His bow had snapped during a fight with several mercenaries and Clint was forced to knock out a sniper and take his rifle. Grumbling about the weapon he was using, the archer lay down in the mud beneath him, the ground squelching unpleasantly as Clint adjusted his position to stare down the scope effectively. Clint hated rifles. If it were his bow he would have sighted, drawn, and loosed his arrow within the time it had taken him to line up the shot. 

The target was an AIM overseer who had stolen the designs of the SHIELD heli-carrier through clever hacking and a good getaway car. The archer just couldn’t understand how SHIELD kept messing up like this…

Pulling the trigger and flinching at the sound of the bullet leaving the gun, Clint watched as the target’s head was pierced and a thick red liquid splattered onto the metal cargo box behind him. Standing up and leaving the rifle where it was, Clint turned and ran down the hill to his left, listening to the sound of shouting mercenaries behind him. The archer stopped when he heard the sound of dogs barking, and turned to the sound, catching sight of seven figures stumbling down the steep hill in pursuit of him. 

Clint slid to a stop at the bottom of the hill and was almost pulled down by a huge dog gripping his arm with its teeth, growling menacingly. The archer yelled in pain and pulled the knife from his boot, bringing the weapon down through the dog’s skull and wincing at the crunching sound it made. The animal fell to the ground, dead, and Clint moved on, clutching his now bleeding arm close to his chest. 

Weaving in between cargo boxes quickly, the archer found his target; who was lying, dead, at an awkward angle, arm bent ninety degrees and legs sprawled in a crude, painful looking manner. Clint pried the hard drive with all of the data on it from his victim and moved on, vision swimming slightly as blood soaked through his outfit and his hand became slick with it. 

Running now, head down and breathing heavily, Clint made his way towards his motorbike, which was parked under a canopy of trees, and jumped on the vehicle, gunning the engine and rocketing away from the site.

///

Natasha Romanoff was not the person he wanted to go to right now; not only has she been in Romania for the last few months, but she was the roughest medic in all of SHIELD.

But she was the first agent Clint ran into.

The redhead had smirked at him and sat the archer down, heading off for medical supplies as Clint pressed blood slick hands to his arm as hard as possible. He was losing a lot of blood fast, and his vision was swimming. 

“Hey” Natasha’s voice pulled him back, vision refocussing when he felt a steady hand on his shoulder “Stay with me Barton”

“I’m here” Clint responded “Just stop the bleeding” 

The assassin nodded and set to work, gently moving the archer’s hand out of the way and pressing a wet cloth to the mangled skin there, ignoring the pained sound that left her friend and wiping away the blood that was obstructing her view of the wound. Threading a needle and sterilising it, Natasha glanced at Clint, whose other arm was tensing and relaxing in a rhythmic fashion. Closing up and cleaning the stitched area effectively, wrapping a pristine bandage around the archer’s arm and pinning it together. 

Clint examined his bandaged arm carefully “Guess I won’t be shooting or driving for a while…”

Natasha smiled “I’ll call Stark” the assassin stood and walked away, knowing exactly how the genius would react to her calling. 

///

The car was beautiful. Stark had met Clint outside the SHIELD base in a midnight blue Chevrolet Impala, a smug smile on his face as he leant on its hood, arms folded over his chest. 

The archer had grinned like a kid on Christmas, cheering quietly as he got into the vehicle. 

“I take it you like my restoration project” Stark had said as he started up the car and it purred to life. 

“If I was rich I’d buy it off you” Clint had responded, grinning when the genius revved the engine before driving away from the SHIELD base at a speed beyond the limit. 

Hell yes.

///

It was a quiet night and Clint was wandering Stark’s mansion, bandaged arm held close to his chest. Since he’d returned home the archer had not seen the older man, and was slightly concerned as he would be in recovery for at least a month and that he needed to get along with Stark for that time. 

Eventually, Clint gave up on his search and sat up on the roof of the mansion, feet almost touching the edge of the roof. He was facing the sea, and watched as gentle waves rolled in and away from the shore, creating a symphony of soft crashing noises against the sand, rocks and cliffs. The archer was surprised when he noticed that Stark was also on the roof, head down, hands buried in his pockets and shoulders slumped. He looked tired, but there was something else as well, Clint couldn’t place it but the genius had a pulse leaving him that made the archer want to reach out. But, Stark hadn’t noticed him yet, and Clint wanted to wait until he did. Turning back to the ocean Clint watched the horizon, bringing his knees to his chest and resting his chin on them, sighing quietly. His arm still hurt, and he had stolen a bottle of pain medication from SHIELD’s medical bay to compensate for the pain. He had received two phone calls, one from Director Fury, who was enraged at the way the archer had executed his last mission; and the other from Agent Coulson, who was more concerned about Clint than the mission. 

Stark’s phone rang and the genius answered it sullenly “Hello? Oh, hey Pepper… how are you? That’s good, I’m glad… Not much, I’m just on the roof… heh, yeah, Barton’s still here… Yeah I’m playing nice, I haven’t seen him all night… I’m a professional, it doesn’t matter what I think of him… no, that’s not what I meant… Yes I admit that but… No… Pepper… Please just, I need a while to get myself together before I even think about that kind of stuff… Yes of course I’ll be there… Okay… you too… bye” Stark sighed as he hung up and pocketed his phone, gently kicking a small stone off of the roof and travelling back downstairs. 

Clint remained on the roof for a long time, mind in another place as the night grew colder and darker, the archer remained still even when the wind picked up and he grew cold. He wasn’t brooding, but after a close call such as the one he had been through in his last mission he couldn’t help but mull over those events… he might have died if he wasn’t as capable as he was. 

The archer jumped when he felt a heavy weight fall over him and sensed another figure at his side, a tentative arm fell over his shoulders and the figure shuffled in closer to Clint before sighing quietly. 

“Hey” Stark said, not going on, just bringing his knees to his chest and leaning against the archer.

“It’s cold” Clint noted, eyes locked on the horizon as warmth from both Stark and the blanket seeped through him. 

“Yeah” came the short reply “Fury called, I told him you were busy… I didn’t ask what he wanted” 

“That’s okay” the archer responded, glancing from the horizon to Stark briefly. The same feeling was still emanating from the genius as it had been before, and Clint still couldn’t place it… Stark wasn’t usually quiet, and his answers were never this short. “Are you okay?” 

“You don’t care” Stark snapped “And you’re not worth telling”

The archer took a deep breath and wrapped an arm around the genius’s midriff “That’s fine” 

There was a brief stillness, as if the world was holding its breath, waiting for one of the two men to respond. 

“You’re supposed to hit me” Stark said quietly “Or at least yell at me”

“I’m not going to do either” Clint responded “You don’t want to tell me something… that’s fine; I don’t have to share my life’s story with you either” 

The genius chuckled “That… wasn’t what I was expecting from you”

“Me either” Clint responded “Maybe it’s the pain meds getting to me but I’m not… I’m not angry” the archer scowled “It’s weird”

“I like this Hawkeye better, I think” Stark responded, smiling slightly.

The archer didn’t respond to the genius, only tightened his grip on the older man’s middle and breathed out. 

Stark didn’t speak either, and turned his gaze to the stars above, enjoying the silence between himself and his unlikely friend. 

A powerful gust of wind passed over the two men and they shivered collectively, but made no move to leave the roof. Clint huddled closer to the man next to him, resting his head against the genius’s as the older man’s head fell to the archer’s shoulder. 

The archer knew he was falling asleep before it happened, but made no move to leave the genius on the roof alone. So, adjusting so that his injured arm was comfortable, Clint closed his eyes and drifted off slowly. 

///

Clint woke the next morning to the ocean pounding against cliffs and gulls screeching their morning calls. Next to him was Tony Stark, whose head was on Clint’s knee. The archer himself had slept sitting up and his neck had a horrible ache in it from the awkward position. Stark sat up and groaned, rubbing his eyes and looking around blearily. Both men shared a glance, it meant nothing to one, but it changed the other completely. 

Stark’s phone rang then, and the glance, which had changed to a message through one look, went away. 

“Hello? Really? I told them to move it forward! That’s ridiculous! No I can’t come now I’m busy! It doesn’t matter what I’m doing, just tell them I’m not coming in!” The genius hung up the phone spitefully and looked at Clint “New secretary, a really stuck up, pretentious…”

Clint cut Stark off “A younger you?” 

The genius grinned “Rude as it was, good one” 

The archer chuckled and stood, stretching out his back and wincing when it cracked in several places “What are you busy with?”

“Nothing” Stark answered, burying his hands in his pockets “I just wanted a break”

Clint nodded, and then took a long look out to the horizon, the gentle breeze passing over him without the archer noticing. “Well, I’m a gimp; do you want to do something?” 

The genius glanced down at the ground for a time, expression thoughtful, before looking directly at the archer “Sure” 

///

“A carnival” Clint said blankly, watching the theme park in front of him warily.

“Yep” Stark answered simply “Come on, it’ll be fun” the genius got out of the car and opened Clint’s door for him “It can’t hurt to be children for a day” 

The archer exited the car and walked beside Stark as they entered the carnival, wishing he hadn’t suggested an outing in the first place. 

Eventually, Clint’s negative attitude faded and he actually began to enjoy himself and Stark’s company. The genius was constantly making jokes, most of them involving bad puns or sexual innuendo, and was taking the archer onto every ride they were allowed on. 

Day turned to night and the carnival light up with bright colours and sounds and more people flocked to the place than those who left it. Clint and Tony had resorted to taking the challenges of the side stands, wanting to avoid the sugar high children and the loud, possibly drunk teenagers.

The genius had convinced Clint, as he had expected would happen, to try some of the accuracy related stands. As always, the archer’s accuracy was without compare, and he was eventually burdened with about six stuffed animals, which Clint gave away to random children that he passed. Stark had complimented his generosity while handing the younger man a stuffed tiger that he had won, funnily enough, at an accuracy game. Clint didn’t give that one away.

The two men drove away from the carnival at around ten in the evening, and got home at twelve. The door was opened smoothly, and both men made it to their rooms without a problem, bidding each other good night before entering them. The stuffed tiger was placed on top of the archer’s duffle bag pile and the young man went to sleep.


	7. The Best Recovery Is One Of Peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint takes the time to rest and recover between missions, and finds that spending time with Tony can actually be rewarding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... Clint broods a lot in this one, it seems as though he's getting a lot more introverted but don't worry! He'll be okay!
> 
> Happy Reading!

Six months passed and Clint barely noticed them fly by as he completed assignment after assignment, earning scars and broken bones at some point in each one. Standing stark naked in front of a mirror and noting that more scars had been added to his bare chest, Clint felt vulnerable and broken. He and Stark were getting along to a point that the genius was working on armour and arrows for the archer, to better his performance on missions. The two laughed and joked and spent the nights watching movies or talking. It was never personal, no, Stark would never ask about Clint’s past or near future and the archer respected that and did the same, they talked about their likes and their dislikes, past partners, religious views and even, when Clint had gotten the courage to; they’d talked about their sexuality. 

Stark was surprisingly calm when the archer gave his answer, and easily moved forward, not asking about Mockingbird when he brought her up or questioning his take on what was attractive. It was almost as if the genius could sense Clint’s discomfort with the topic. Stark, the archer had learned, was bisexual, which was strange to Clint as he’d only ever seen the older man with women. Either way, the two had a mutual understanding after that, and veered away from personal questions once more.

There was a time when Clint had made an attempt at asking Stark about his past, but it was quickly brushed off by the genius and the archer let it be. The closest the two ever got too personal was when they complained about various people and things. 

Blue eyes met their reflection and Clint sighed heavily, shoulders tensing as he took a tight grip on the sink beneath him. The last mission had been… interesting. HYDRA was catching on and finding more and more ways of exploiting Clint’s weaknesses, his right arm was out of action due to a shot to the shoulder from a rifle, it had hurt, the archer had screamed through the entire process of removing the bullet himself. When he had returned to the mansion, Stark had given him a glass of bourbon and told him to “take it easy”; it had almost sounded like concern. 

Clint dressed slowly and painfully, pulling on track suit pants and a moss green hoodie, forgoing a shirt and pulling the hood up and over his damp, dirt blonde locks. 

Stark was curled up on one of his couches, feet bare as he wrote on a stack of papers rested against his legs. The genius was still wearing a suit, the tie was loosened and rumpled slightly and the jacket was hung over the chair neatly. The older man looked comfortable, but his brow was furrowed in concentration. He was working from Malibu, and had over a dozen papers to read, write or sign within a deadline that Clint wasn’t sure of. 

When the archer entered he was caught in Stark’s critical gaze and the young man smiled gently, taking a seat opposite the genius, leaning his back against the arm of the chair and bringing his feet up to rest on the cushions. 

“How are you feeling?” Stark asked, eyes never leaving the paper.

“I’ve been better” Clint admitted, wiggling into a comfortable position “But then again I’ve been worse”

“You had me worried for a moment, I didn’t know if you were going to pass out or punch me” The genius responded, catching Clint’s wandering gaze for but a moment before continuing “Director Fury called, he wants a debrief” 

The archer scowled “He can wait… how long have you been at that for?” the younger man asked, leaning his head against the back of the couch and picking the dirt from his fingernails.

“Several hours before you got back… But, I’ve worked for longer on less so…” Stark trailed off and watched the archer for seconds before, nudging the young man’s foot with his own “If you’re bored could you make me a coffee please?” 

Clint looked up at the genius and smiled “Sure, but only because you used your manners” 

“What did you expect? ‘hey slave, get me coffee!?’” Stark responded, holding the pen in his hand with a loose grip.

The archer stood and snatched the pen from the genius’s grip and walked into the kitchen, setting Stark’s coffee preferences and grabbing the older man’s favourite (he didn’t understand how it was his favourite when it looked almost identical to the others) cup and starting the machine. 

The genius wandered into the room and leant against the doorway “Can I have my pen back?” 

Clint smirked and tossed the pen in the air, sending it end over end before catching it “No”

“ **Please** ” Stark insisted, folding his arms in an accusing manner “May I have my pen?” 

The archer grinned “Now you’re getting it” tossing the pen back to Stark, the archer took the mug of hot coffee and handed it to the genius while walking back to the lounge room with the older man by his side. 

“So, what are you working on anyway?” Clint asked, reclaiming his place on the couch after Stark had settled back onto it first. 

“Mainly management, some cheques and written requests for meetings et cetera” The genius answered, signing the paper on top with a gentle flourish “Boring stuff that the boss has to do”

“Ah” Clint responded “Kind of like Coulson… he’s a wonder with organising paperwork”

Stark chuckled “Maybe he should give me a few lessons” he said, placing the paper on the coffee table beside him “Because I can’t keep track of anything”

The archer stood once more and went back to his room, taking one of his bows and bringing it back to the living room along with a maintenance kit. Sitting back down, Clint took to polishing the black carbon surface roughly, making sure to clean every smudge from the shining surface. Along the string, there were frayed areas and the archer fixed those as well, testing the draw over and again until he was happy that the weapon hadn’t lost any flexibility. 

Both men remained silent for hours, fixated on their tasks as day turned slowly to afternoon and the sun sank lower in the sky. Neither said a word, and the house remained quiet but for the frequent scratch of pen to paper or the sound of the younger man rummaging for tools.

Clint’s phone broke the silence as it chimed out the opening riff to Sweet Child O’ Mine, smirking when Stark jumped at the sudden noise, the archer answered the phone.   
“Barton here” he began, waiting quietly for the response. 

_“How’s the arm?”_

Clint almost froze when he recognised the calm tone of Director Fury, and he almost fell off the couch “Director Fury! Uh, it’s fine sir, healing, that is… sir” The archer answered, scowling at the genius, who was holding back obvious laughter. 

_“That’s good news, listen Barton, I know we told you that you’d only be putting up with Mr Stark for a year but HYDRA are getting smarter… as in subtler”_ The Director began _“Romanoff is still in Cambodia and we need you to stick around for maybe another year… can you do that?”_

Clint’s jaw clenched of its own accord: sometimes he really disliked his boss “Affirmative sir… is there any way of contacting Romanoff?” 

_“If you’re thinking about going out and helping her, your request is denied”_ Fury said firmly _“We’ll let you know when she gets back”_

“Thank you sir” The archer responded, biting back anything else and hanging up the phone on his dismissal, then glaring at Stark as the older man fell into a fit of laughter. 

“Are you always that awkward on the phone?!” The genius managed, smile still in his eyes as he calmed down considerably

“I’m not awkward…” Clint replied, frowning slightly.

“Oh yes… yes you are” Stark reiterated, placing the paperwork he had on the coffee table in order to lean forward to tap the archer’s nose with his pen “You hate phone calls”

The younger man just rolled his eyes and waved the genius away “Only with Fury” 

Stark laughed once more and Clint brought a hand up to his face… he needed to stop talking. 

“Oh hey… that gala is tomorrow… are we still on?” The genius asked “It’s an open bar” the older man added in a sing – song voice, grinning wildly.

“Sure” Clint responded “But I don’t have a suit”

“We’ll buy you one”

“No” Clint responded “No way… I can’t have you do that… I’ll only wear it once”

“And your point is?” Stark argued “I have thousands of suits, but there’s no way I’ve worn any of them more than two, pushing three times”

“Can’t I just borrow one?”

“Not only are you two inches taller than me but your arms, chest and shoulders are broader than mine, you’d look ridiculous… I am buying you a suit that fits so people will look at you and say “Wow, that blond guy sure is attractive, I wonder if he’s single…””

The archer snorted “I doubt anyone will even notice me” 

“I would” The genius said sincerely

Clint blinked at the older man, the comment had been so brief but it felt almost like… a compliment? Or maybe, dare he say it, a flirtation... “Thanks” 

“Yeah” Stark responded, ducking his head and grinning “I noticed you on the first official Avengers mission…” 

“Oh” the archer responded intelligently. He didn’t know how else to respond, because this was Tony Stark, the guy who was always joking or flirting… so, what was this? Clint’s prejudice about the genius had been off, so far off he was almost ashamed, Stark was different when you caught him alone… almost nice, and now… Clint really didn’t know what to think…

“Anyway” Stark began, clearing his throat “I’m thinking deep purple for you, royal blue for myself… and um, you can pick the car” 

///

Clint watched himself in the mirror as he straightened the tie at his neck and fiddled with the waistcoat beneath the suit’s jacket, unsure and uncomfortable with the formal wear. 

Stark, however, was smoothing his suit over and making an attempt at flattening his hair with a wet comb. The genius beamed at the archer and looked the younger man up and down slowly before smoothing Clint’s suit over his person. 

“Now, I should warn you, the press will be ruthless, don’t answer their questions, they’ll manipulate your words… just, smile and look dashing, which won’t be hard for you” 

The archer found himself blushing slightly at Stark’s last comment and nodded “I got it” 

Both men walked into the garage and slid into the interior of a Mercedes-Benz SLR McLaren Roadster and Stark drove the car out and away from his Malibu mansion and onto the highway. 

“I didn’t know you liked Mercedes” Clint responded. 

“I don’t” Stark confirmed “This girl here was a gift… she does, however, drive like a dream" 

Clint grinned in response and leant his arm on the window sill, the buttons at his cuff clinking against the vinyl. 

When they arrived, Clint stifled a laugh when about five valets wrestled to park Tony Stark’s car. Stark opened the archer’s door for him and then took the younger man by the arm, smiling gently as he led him towards the venue. The archer didn’t protest to being led, and fell into step with the older man beside him, glancing around the large, well-decorated hall with hundreds of people in it. These people were talking, dancing, or drinking with one another as members of the press flitted about, gathering their daily gossip to fill with tainted “facts” for their next instalment.

Stark was smiling and greeting people politely, an adjacent tone to his voice as he gently guided Clint away from the crowds and towards a familiar woman: Pepper Potts. 

The archer was never one to doubt a woman on their power, and Pepper was the perfect example for subtle strength. Like Natasha, she had this perfect façade of a beautiful woman, but when you got to know them you learnt they were more than capable of handling their own problems. So, just like with Natasha, Clint respected Pepper Potts. 

“Evening Miss Potts” Clint greeted warmly, holding out a hand, which Pepper took with a smile and a subtle look of surprise. 

“So, you’re the secret plus one I wasn’t allowed to know about, Agent” 

“Please, Clint is fine” the archer insisted, smiling slightly “Leave the formalities for Director Fury” 

Pepper’s smile brightened as she retracted her hand, clasping them together gently “I’ll keep that in mind” 

Stark, surprisingly, remained silent while Clint spoke to Pepper, and eventually wandered off either to mingle or to get himself a drink. When he returned, he gently and politely pulled Clint away from his CEO and handed the archer a drink. 

“I’ve known you how long and I still can’t call you Clint?” The genius said suddenly. 

“Actually, you choose to not call me Clint” the younger man responded, smirking as he took a drink from the glass in his hand “I never said anything against it”

“But you gave Pepper permission” Stark argued “And you always call me “Stark” so I assumed you didn’t want me referring to you by your first name”

“Fine, you have permission to call me Clint” the archer responded patiently, a grin on his face. 

“Nope not good enough” the genius quipped, downing his drink quickly, a wide smile on his features. The older man’s eyes fell from Clint’s and the grin faded “Excuse me for a second…”

Clint just nodded and walked away from the crowds, leaning his back against the wall and watching the crowds boredly, noting that most people in the room were most definitely rich and the archer realised that some had agents had been issued to watch them.

“You look nice”

Clint turned to the voice to find a woman with bottle blonde hair and striking blues eyes standing next to him, a warm smile on her face. 

The archer ducked his head and grinned “Thanks… I’m Clint” he said, watching the young woman carefully. 

“I’m Sophie” She answered “So, are you with Mr Stark?” 

“Yeah, I’m his plus one” Clint responded and then added “But we’re just colleagues… I amuse him” 

Sophie smiled “I’m here with my boss, Victor Hill, actually, your colleague is talking to him now” she said, pointing over to where Stark was conversing with a tall, serious looking man with jet black hair and grey eyes. 

Clint recognised him vaguely, remembering that one of their agents had been tasked with watching him carefully since the man’s business had become competitive with certain AIM representatives (who were, or course, undercover... but SHIELD knew everything)

“Yeah, I’ve heard of him… my workplace find him… interesting”

“And where do you work?” the woman asked, watching the young man curiously. 

“Um, it’s disclosed… my boss would kill me if I made it public” Clint responded, watching as Stark made his way back over to him in a casual manner. The archer turned to Sophie then “It was nice meeting you”

Sophie smiled warmly “You too Clint”

Stark grinned at the younger man when he was within earshot of him “Did you make a friend?”

Clint shrugged “Guess so”

“God you’re boring” The genius responded “Oh hey, what did Fury call you about?”

“That was yesterday…” Clint said, raising an eyebrow at the man beside him.

“I know” Stark replied “I just forgot to ask you”

The archer smiled slightly “He wants me to put up with you for another year”

The genius grinned “Awesome” the older man then seemed to realise what he had said and added “It gives me a lot more time to listen to you answering a phone”

Clint shoved him at that, grinning all the same “Ass” 

“Whoa… okay, name calling, I can get with that Legolas” Stark replied, grin widening.

“Alright, but I’ve been saving a lot of these for opportune moments so don’t expect them everyday” the archer retaliated, stopping when the older man did and leaning against the nearby wall, folding his arms gently over his chest. 

“I’ll treasure each one Mr Queen” the genius said with a soft smile as he mirrored Hawkeye’s position. 

“I have no doubt, Mr Wayne” Clint quipped, smirking slightly at Stark’s look of distaste.

“No… no… don’t call me that… that’s weird” he said slowly “Ok… no more talking about those other heroes… agreed?” 

“Agreed” Clint said immediately, as he’d rather be compared to fictional characters than real people. 

Both men slid down the wall and took a seat, Stark began talking to the archer about the people at the Gala, and Clint shared his knowledge of those people, which the genius found to be impressive. They carried on like that through the night, and as people came and went the archer and the genius watched and talked.

Clint refused to believe that he had had fun with Stark during that night, he refused to believe that he had enjoyed himself without becoming slightly drunk. The genius beside him had barely had one drink and yet they were getting along like old friends who had recently reunited… 

“We must be lucky Barton, the press haven’t found us yet and neither have any people who like to gossip… oh, were you talking to Sophie King earlier?” The genius talked quietly, as they weren’t that far apart from one another.

“Uh… I didn’t know her last name but yeah, guess I was” Clint responded slowly, wondering at what Stark was getting at.

“She’s a nice girl” he agreed “Victor and I agree she’ll go far in business… she’s the kind of person who takes risks… Hill wants her to be his prodigy but she keeps turning him down, wants to settle down first”

Clint nodded, watching the older man as he spoke “No offense Stark, but I’m not chasing girls anymore… I’m past that” 

“Never too late to start Barton” the genius said “Or have you got your eye on a certain red headed team member?”

The archer smiled and shook his head “No, not Natasha… not anyone… I’m okay on my own” 

Stark nodded at that “I understand completely” the older man caught the Clint’s gaze then, but he said nothing.

Clint was unwilling to look away, and yet he wanted to break this… whatever it was that he and Stark were doing, but words failed him for a long time and Stark didn’t try to speak or break the archer’s gaze.

Clearing his throat, Clint ducked his head before looking back at the genius “Sorry that was… that was really personal”

“It’s fine… who am I going to tell anyway?” Stark responded, smiling gently in understanding. “And… if it means anything… I prefer to be alone myself, when it comes to relationships, that is… I just… I seem to…”

“Hurt them” Clint finished quietly “Me too”

Eventually, Stark drove himself and Clint home and bade the archer good night, a smile still present when he left for his room. The archer wondered exactly why the genius had found his company worthwhile… he was just the archer in the team… and yet Stark had found some form of comfort with him… and he’d noticed him. Not Captain America, Thor, Bruce or Natasha… him.

It wasn’t as if he’d had a reputation… he was just Hawkeye… then a part of his consciousness reminded him that he was Hawkeye: the world’s greatest marksman… not that the others, excluding Natasha, had known that.

Just Hawkeye… that’s all he’d been and that was all that Stark had known, and yet… Clint shook his head to clear his thoughts and, after undressing, went to bed, forgetting his thoughts for the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, Tony is a fashion genius and Clint has problems with women. 
> 
> Also, probably should have mentioned that in this story, the DC and MARVEL universes sort of co-exist, but never really see each other... sort of like Jack and The Doctor...
> 
> So, I just caused myself a serious case of the feels.
> 
> And I'll leave you with that.


	8. Even The Most Observant Man Can Be Blind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint returns to his shoot and kill missions, and finds himself in a troubling situation... Snark ensues.
> 
> Contains descriptions of torture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this work hit 1000 hits some time yesterday and I'd like to thank the contributors to that. Whether you got on, didn't like what you saw and got off, or you got on and told all of your friends, or if you have left any sort of feedback than I'd like to thank you.
> 
> When I first posted this particular fic, which is reaching its fifth anniversary on the 9th of March, I was so worried that this final rework wasn't going to get any love, but my goodness you guys are AWESOME!
> 
> So, um, sappy moment over, enjoy the chapter.
> 
> Happy Reading!

On top of buildings, Clint felt free, he could see everything he needed to and there was no one to take him away from the sensation that standing atop a fifty story building gave him. If he could have a super power, Clint wanted it to be flight, of all the things he could do, he just… wanted to get off the ground, away from limits and the do’s and don’ts of the world. It was why he jumped from buildings; it gave him the thrill of being airborne, if only for a minute. And, atop a building as snow fell, covering him in white flecks, while down below, a man was face first to the ground, an arrow buried deep into his skull and another in his back, which was turning white to red; was when Clint felt powerful. 

The sound of yelling carried up from the lower floors and Clint knew that he’d have to move soon. Swinging down from his position on the roof and through an open window, the archer ducked down behind an office desk and waited for the sound of footsteps to pass before exiting the floor and dashing down the steps as quietly as possible. The archer’s leg caved after the sound of a gunshot and pain exploded through the limb, Clint yelled and looked towards the shooter, who was wearing a smug look on his face as Clint scowled up at him. The archer bit back a string of curses as he stood and pulled his bow from its place on his back, screaming when a bullet slammed into his arm, causing him to drop the weapon. Clint didn’t stop though; he reached into his boot and tossed the knife at the shooter, only to be brought to his knee by another man behind him. The first, the holder of the gun, kept his weapon trained on Hawkeye as the agent was cuffed, and a heavy black bag that smelt of blood and sweat was pulled over his head. 

///

Clint blinked in the poor light of the room, glancing around and noting three men in front of him, all wearing the HYDRA insignia somewhere on their clothing. The archer laughed, loudly and uncontrollably, because really, _HYDRA?_ His laughs soon turned to an exclamation of pain when another man, one he hadn’t seen, sent a solid punch to his jaw.

“We know who you are Hawkeye, and we know why you’re here, HYDRA has had enough of your meddling, and if you do not assist us, all you will know is pain” The man in middle, possibly the ring leader, announced. 

Clint chuckled and spat blood, watching the red liquid on the ground for a moment before answering “I’ve seen children in Halloween costumes scarier than you, and if you call that a punch I suggest you rework it” the archer then grinned, knowing that his mouth was still bloody “You won’t get shit out of me” 

“Not right now, no, because you don’t know what we want yet…”

“Get to the point then” Hawkeye snapped “You’re wasting my debrief time”

“We want SHIELD’s access codes, Hawkeye” the man continued. 

The archer shook his head “Don’t know ‘em” 

“We’ll see” The agent said, before inclining his head so that one of the men knocked Clint out cold.

///

He was hanging by his wrists, that much he could tell, and a sharp twinge was hitting his neck, but there was no knife wielder in front of him. Stretching his toes slightly, Clint found that he couldn’t reach the floor even if he got rid of the weapon at his neck, as he was at least five inches off the ground. His shoulders were already sore, but the archer knew that this couldn’t be all HYDRA had in store for him…

Remaining as relaxed as possible, Hawkeye took to examining his environment, and noted one door, a small window near the roof and a dirt floor, meaning that the place would stink soon enough. Clint also noted that his quiver of arrows was still in the room, possibly set as temptation, his phone was still, thankfully, in his pocket but there was no point reaching for it unless he wanted to puncture his jugular. So, effectively, he was trapped, but not broken. The question was how to get out and how to protect his still healing arm from attack. Remembering the shots to his arm and leg Clint tilted his head up to check for the bullet, which was gone from his arm, and upon moving his leg he noted that that bullet was gone too. So, that meant that they would be reopening those wounds in order to make him scream. 

It took a long time for anyone to come in and actually talk to Clint, but when they did the archer was already mentally prepared: which was their first mistake, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

“So, Hawkeye, what do you think?” A man, who was new to Clint, said.

“I dunno, the room service is shit and the maids are all men, one star because I’m just that generous” The archer responded, watching cautiously when the man laughed in response.

“I like him” the man said to the agent beside him “We should try to keep him alive” he added, before turning to Clint “Now, Hawkeye, for the purpose of identification, you can call me Silvers” he said calmly “And until you tell us what we want to know, my best agent will torture you” 

The archer smirked “And are you gonna watch? Because I’ve been practising my screaming and let me tell you they are a _treat_ , also, I recently learnt Croatian: a new language for me to swear in” he answered smugly. 

Silvers chuckled “Joke all you want Hawkeye, we’ll get our way eventually” he finalised, leaving Hawkeye alone with one HYDRA agent. 

He wasn’t heavily muscled, but he obviously harboured some strength, his eyes were cold and his face was cruel, Clint watched as the man smiled at him in an unfriendly way and then just watched the archer carefully. 

“So, chains and whips? Or are handcuffs more your thing?” 

Clint laughed in response “Handcuffs: definitely”

“I can see why he likes you” The agent continued “You don’t seem afraid of much, and you’ve killed some of our best men with one arrow”

“One arrow and a **bomb** ” Hawkeye corrected “So, how are you going to go about this? Because I know a guy, he has a lot of money, I’ll just scream loudly while you get me down and I’ll send you a cheque in the mail” the archer offered “It doesn’t have to end in me blowing this place up”

“Nice try, but I’m not bribed so easily” the agent replied, taking up what looked like a tazer and walking over to the archer, taking his time with the short distance to cover.

“He’s a playboy too you know, knows a lot of people, we could easily find your kink” Clint continued “You gave me an innuendo about a minute ago, that’s gotta mean something” 

The agent shrugged, flipped the tazer in his hand once.

Then the screaming started.

/// 

The sound of high pitched ringing filled the quiet atmosphere of the dark mansion, the rooms desolate in the soft light of the moon that fought its way through closed blinds. The owner of the phone groaned and rolled over, stubbornly throwing a pillow in the phone’s direction, receiving a chuckle from his bed sharer.

The phone rang again soon after and Tony rolled over, feet hitting the floor loudly “It’s four in the morning, who the heck calls at four in the morning?” Checking the caller ID Tony growled: Director Fury. Looking longingly at the bed behind him and the person occupying it the genius answered the phone reluctantly.

“This better be good” Tony snapped quietly, leaning his bare back against the wall behind him.

_“Oh, believe me Stark, it is”_ The Director answered calmly _“Hawkeye hasn’t returned from Greenland, but he sent SHIELD the intel we needed days ago, any ideas?”_

“Maybe he wanted a vacation, Greenland’s a nice country” the genius responded, rubbing his still tired eyes “We don’t talk that much, how would I know?”

_“Either way, I want you to go and get him for us; he could be in some serious trouble”_ Fury responded, still calm and patient.

Tony sighed, knowing that he should and would help Clint, because, when he thought about it, they were friends… or at least he thought they were “I’m on it…” he said and then hung up the phone. “I’m off to save an Avenger, don’t wait up” he said over his shoulder to the now sleeping person in the bed before leaving the room, grabbing jeans and the Black Sabbath shirt that never seemed to enter the washing machine. 

///

Clint’s eyes snapped open to the sound of the door opening once more and the archer felt a creeping fear dawning on him again, neck, back and shoulders screaming in protest, tired eyes still searching for a way out when… Silvers entered the room, a smug look on his face.

“The access codes, Hawkeye” he said gently.

Hawkeye laughed out of spite “I still have no idea what they are”

Silvers smiled in a falsely apologetic way then, and turned to his agent “You know what to do”

The archer’s fear soon turned to curiosity when he heard the sound of startled yells outside of his prison and a loud crashing noise. His torturer and Silvers both looked to the noise and with one shared look they left in opposite directions.

The archer strained his ears to hear what was happening over the loud blasts that were sounding along with gunfire, and closed his eyes, trying to hold back tears of despair and gripping tightly to the strand of hope that was in front of him then.

The sound of footsteps and the hands at the device around his neck caused Clint to snap his eyes open as the device was removed from his neck and then the chains above him were clinking together as someone undid them rapidly. The archer refrained from screaming when he was let down and all of the wounds covering his body sent the young man into agony. 

“Clint, hey, look at me” the archer looked to the man and recognised Stark before a smile broke his features and he let out a strangled sob. 

The escape was a blur to Clint’s pain ridden mind, but once he was out of the base he blacked out long enough to wake up in Stark’s mansion with the genius beside him, the older man quietly applying the correct medical attention to the archer’s wounds.

Clint grinned at the man and pulled him into a tight hug, earning a sound of surprise from the man. The archer let out a happy laugh and held tighter to the man in his grip as tears sprung to his eyes and one escaped, running down his cheek. The embrace was returned soon enough and the genius let out a sigh. 

“I’m glad you’re okay” he said quietly.

“Thank you” the archer managed before he started crying out of relief.

Stark just held the archer tightly and closed his eyes, letting out a sigh while running his hands over the younger man’s scarred back. Clint’s hands shook in their tight grip while sobs left him in violent shakes of his shoulders

“You’re okay” he heard Stark say quietly “I’ve got you” 

The archer stayed in the genius’s arms for a long time, and eventually the shaky breaths evened out to steady breathing when the young man fell asleep. 

Tony positioned himself so that he was propped against the bed and stayed in Clint’s room, listening to the younger man’s steady breathing through the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony is the best.


	9. Waking Up Is The Hardest Part Of The Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Five years! The sad thing was that I was working and couldn't celebrate it (Australian, 9th of March was yesterday) but here's the ninth chapter! Thank you so much for all of the kudos, comments, bookmarks, subscriptions and support! 
> 
> Happy reading!

Clint woke up slowly and groggily, vision blurry as he sat up, still clothed with the bed sheets over him. He swung his legs over the bed receiving little protest from his wounds and exited his room to a quiet mansion. Normally, the mansion would be loud with the noise that was Rock and Roll, unless Stark as either in his workshop, or out.

The archer had slept well last night, and either the trauma of his capture hadn’t set in yet, or, on the less likely positive: there was no trauma and Clint was dealing with it in a productive way.

The silence of the mansion was unnerving him, because that was when he knew something was coming, that pain was right on his heels… because when the silence began, the screaming would follow soon after. His throat had been hoarse, and still was now… but Clint knew the recovery theory: eat, drink and sleep well. 

“Uh… JARVIS? Could you play some Guns n’ Roses for me please?” The archer said, feeling awkward talking to empty space. 

**_“I can indeed sir”_** and like that, the intro to November Rain began, and Clint wondered how long it took for Stark to install house wide speakers.

Clint then remembered what had happened the night before, and felt the same overwhelming sense of gratitude to the genius, not only had the man saved him but he had tended to his wounds, and accepted the archer when he was vulnerable. 

Clint decided to call Stark and find out where he was, but only received the man’s voice mail. So, he showered, dressed, ate and called Agent Coulson within an hour, then tried the genius’s number again: only to receive voice-mail once more.

He assumed that Stark was working or couldn’t hear the phone, and went about his day; avoiding knives, ropes or anything that brought him back to the officially most painful mission he’d been on. Snippets of those long days and nights flitted through his mind in disjointed patterns and the archer was finding it progressively difficult to concentrate, and eventually gave up on doing any more physical exercise.

His phone rang then and Clint picked it up quickly, hoping for a distraction “Barton here”

_“Hey Hawks, just hitting you back, you called?”_ Stark’s calm voice said through the phone.

“Yeah, I was just wondering where you were is all” Clint responded, standing and walking over to the large glass window in front of him, watching the sun at its peak in the sky.

_“I’m down in the workshop, couldn’t hear my phone over the welder”_ he answered _“You can come down here if you’d like”_

“Sure, I’ll be a minute” Clint responded, hanging up the phone and making his way down to Stark’s workshop, punching in the code and entering the expansive space.

“You’re quick on your feet” Stark called from across the room, where he was laying white tarp on the ground and around a dull looking Iron Man suit.

“I’ve been known to be” The archer responded, tilting his head to the right to get a better look at the suit “This is what you’ve been working on?”

“Yeah, I’m painting this one myself, JARVIS usually has all the fun but today it’s my turn” he answered, grinning at the younger man widely.

Clint smiled slightly and joined Stark to help him lift a blanket of tarp up higher so that the man could cover the back of the suit “They really are five inches taller than you” he noted quietly, looking up at the suit beside him. “What are you calling it?”

“Shockwave” Stark answered “And that whole height thing is only because of the make: it has to fit me.” He added defensively, eyes daring Clint to make a comment on his height.

The archer chuckled and watched Stark pull a spray can out from beneath his desk and shake it several times “Ok, ok… I get it, it’s essential for the suit to work”

The genius grinned and began spraying the plain silver suit a metallic midnight blue, arm moving in gentle sweeps as one of his robotic arms: You, painted the other side. Without asking, Clint picked up the third spray can and on finding that it was silver, began spraying the suit accordingly. 

“So… thanks for helping me out” Clint began, speaking over the gentle hiss of the spray cans.

Stark glanced at Clint, then took a smaller nozzle from his bench, touching up the trickier parts of the suit “Of course… we’re a team right? Team mates help other team mates…”

Clint felt a weight lift off his shoulders then, because the question of what he and Stark were floated through his mind without end. Because Clint didn’t despise the man anymore, he had started to form camaraderie with the man, and found that he slowly liked the genius more when they talked instead of disliking the man without fathom. So, maybe Stark’s answer helped complicate his position, because he was beginning to respect the man’s opinion.

The genius was now struggling with the nozzle on the spray can, hands fumbling at the surface as he made an attempt to pull it off; succeeding only to spray in Clint’s direction, resulting in a blue line across the archer’s face.

Stark stared at him, mouth open as he fought back a grin, and shook his head “I… that… that was not on purpose I swear” then, the genius laughed shortly “But you look ridiculous”

After the initial shock subsided, Clint’s lips quirked into a smile and he sprayed Stark with his own can, but instead of getting the man’s face, he got the genius’s coal black hair, resulting in a silver stripe through his hair. 

The archer laughed loudly when he got a look at the older man, which turned to a yell of surprise when Stark retaliated immediately.

“You sir, are playing against a highly trained SHIELD agent” Clint warned playfully.

“Trust me: I know”

///

“Should I even ask?” Natasha said, watching as Clint Barton entered the SHIELD base, hair tinged with specks of blue, his right hand the same hue. Tucked under his arm was a manila folder, and Natasha wondered at its contents.

Clint pursed his lips and shook his head “Probably not”

The assassin smirked and huffed slightly, watching the archer with amusement, then her expression turned serious “How are you?”

The archer shrugged “I’m okay; nothing’s broken so that’s a good sign”

“I meant mentally Barton” Natasha urged, sitting up from her slouched position.

“I’m fine Nat, I would tell you if I wasn’t” Clint said, tightening his grip on the folder under his arm.

“You wouldn’t” she corrected simply “Just don’t push yourself too hard”

He nodded and moved further into the SHIELD base, strolling down long corridors whilst agents of all kinds rushed around him, either talking hurriedly or apologising loudly as they dashed past the archer. Clint finally arrived at the door of Nick Fury’s office and knocked before entering.

The director looked to him with a tired gaze, and Clint wondered how much sleep Fury had gotten during the past week. “Barton, I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon… how are you doing?”

“Fine sir, I wrote up a report for you” the archer responded, holding up the manila folder and waving it gently.

“You wrote one up while on recovery? Are you sure you’re my agent?” Fury responded, humour coating his words. The director then gestured for the agent to take a seat and leant back in his chair, relaxing significantly.

Clint smirked and sat down, placing the folder on his boss’s desk “I’m sure sir; I didn’t have the option of getting outside until this afternoon, and had nothing to do, so I wrote the report…”

“And may I ask why you’ve coloured your hair; not that I mind my agents trying something new, but I always saw you trying for brunette first” Fury commented, a laugh tailing his words. 

The archer grinned then “Stark and myself had a… disagreement; but don’t worry sir, I got him worse”

The director grinned in amusement “How’s that working out by the way? You’ve almost been in his residence for a year” 

“It’s… been interesting, sir… he wasn’t what I expected” Clint answered, leaning back in the chair and relaxing his usually tense muscles.

“I’m glad we agree on that” Fury responded, a soft smile on his face. “Well” he continued, leaning further back in his chair, tilting it slightly “You’ve managed to cheer me up and reassure me that I can make some good decisions”

“Only some?” Clint questioned playfully, raising an eyebrow as he rose from his chair.

“Very funny Barton, take care okay?” the director retorted, watching as one of his best agents left the room. He then took the folder that was resting on his desk and opened it, dark eyes scanning the neatly printed text there. He realised that his agent would need to be watched carefully for symptoms of post-traumatic stress, as the archer had been through significant torture and could not recall the details of that. 

Sighing deeply and rubbing his eyes tiredly, Nick Fury readied himself to make several calls: one to Tony Stark.


	10. A Little Humour Can Be A Good Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint's actually coming to like Stark... but only a little, he also learns to hold his temper more often.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're nearing the end of the first part, and in order to pull ahead I'm going put a break between chapters 11 and 12 because I need to get ahead and finish this final edit, so the ashamedly HUGE break will be filled in with little IronHawk Alphabet series that I've started, and hopefully I'll have Part Two up and running by the end of that. Oh, and the story has a possible sequel up and coming, I just thought I's share that with you because I'm so excited!
> 
> Anyway, boring stuff over, back to Three Strikes.

“So” Stark began, entering Clint’s room while drying his hair, a black bowtie hanging around his neck and a suit jacket draped over his shoulder “I have a few things to say to you” 

“Do you normally just stride into people’s rooms, hear water running and enter with “So”?” Clint called from the shower grinning at the scoff he heard from the adjacent room.

“The correct response is “What do you need, oh Tony my saviour?”” the genius retorted, grinning widely and he leant against the wall closest to the bathroom. 

The archer let a short laugh pass his lips, and turned the shower handles clockwise and the warm water stopped abruptly in its stream. “Speak, you’re usually so good at it” he said as he stepped out of the shower and acquired a towel, wrapping it firmly around his waist. 

“Alright… One: Fury called, said I should keep an eye on you. Two: I have a black suit and tie event tonight, I won’t be back for four hours at least; and finally, three: Don’t drink any of my alcohol. At all.” Stark answered. 

“If you’re supposed to “Keep an eye on me” then why are you leaving me alone for three hours?” Clint enquired as he dried himself with rapid succession.

“Four hours” The genius corrected patiently, taking the comb from his pocket and using the bedrooms mirror to aid him in flattening his damp hair “You don’t like suits and if I tried to look after you you’d slit my throat”

The archer took a moment to think, and dressed himself as he did so “This is true…” Once dressed, Clint left the bathroom and smirked as he watched Stark fret over his untameable hair. “Maybe you should try hair gel”

“That’s bad for you: hair gel… Anyway, I’m going out and I’m asking you to behave… please” Stark responded, patting Clint’s shoulder gently. 

The archer watched as the older man left the room, then followed him quickly “Maybe I could come with you? I mean… bowties aren’t that bad”

The genius turned to him with a look of surprise mixed with joy “I would love that” 

///

The suit and tie thing was still alien to Clint, and he did feel out of his own body as he strode down the pavement with Tony Stark at his side, reporters talking as fast as the cameras flashed before they entered an extravagant hall that was oddly shaped so that the walls curved and dipped, climbing to a point of a very high ceiling, and Clint wondered how the air would be up there. There were five or six separate doorways, one was a kitchen, and two more were balconies and the other three the archer had yet to discover.

“I heard from Thor this morning, his brother’s been imprisoned for attacking Earth…” Stark said suddenly, blue eyes scanning the room slowly, just as Clint had done a second earlier. 

“He’ll get out, according to Thor he’s never been one to stay caged for long” The archer responded automatically, wincing when he sounded oddly like Captain America. 

The genius pursed his lips “I can understand that, no one likes to be caged”

The slight pause in their conversation told Clint that yes; he had hit a soft spot with Stark. “So, how did you get a hold of Thor?”

“Fury hooked me up” the genius answered immediately, leading the archer over to the bar and leaning against the coal coloured surface “Apparently I am antisocial” 

“That’s a laugh; you’re the most social guy I know, who else attends fifteen events a week?” Clint asked, mirroring Stark’s position. 

“No, I think he was aiming for the subtle way of saying “You don’t have friends”… Anyway, he gave me a list of numbers belonging to the Avengers… and the X-Men” he answered, grimacing at the name. 

“You mean Wolverine and Deadpool X-Men?” he responded, taking a long glance around the hall, noticing Sophie King and Victor Hill.

“Yeah, do you know that Deadpool only has an apartment? That’s like, crazy poor… you know?” the genius said, ordering a drink when the bartender noticed him. 

“Stark… I live in an apartment” Clint said slowly, nodding at the tender when he was offered a drink. 

“Well, actually, you’re living in my mansion… and you’re not crazy poor… I mean, you have money” Stark responded, making an attempt to recover from his accidental insult. 

“Yeah, okay, no harm done Stark, we’re good” The archer responded boredly, eyes locked on the large crowds of people, more interested in observing the rich than talking to the billionaire he saw almost every day. 

“Great…” Stark said, downing his drink in one go and then frowning at a small group of people “I think that’s Reed Richards over there…” glancing at Clint briefly, the older man added “I’m too short, can you see over the giant in front of him?” 

Clint laughed and looked in the same direction as the genius “Yeah… that’s Mr Fantastic alright” 

Both men fell silent then, out of things to talk about that didn’t fall under the personal category. Funnily, Stark didn’t speak, just stood next to him in silence… It wasn’t uncomfortable, nor was it awkward, it was just… silence.

Suddenly, the genius moved away from the bar and into the crowds, gesturing for Clint to follow him as he flitted between groups, making his way to the other side of the venue and out a door onto a balcony. 

“Sudden change of scenery” He noted as the genius watched the doors vigilantly.

“Christine Everhart…. She hates me” Stark answered simply “Sorry, she’s one of those reporters you want to punch when they ask you their questions with a challenge in their eyes because they know they can twist your words” 

Clint nodded “I understand”

The rest of the night became a blur as the drink tally piled on, and his memory became fuzzy after that, he remembered vague points of the nights, and the last thing he recognised was his bedroom.

That was a reason why Clint never got drunk.

///

When Clint woke up he noticed three things. One: he was tangled in the sheets of his bed, two: The morning air was freezing and three: He couldn’t remember the previous night. The archer stood and exited his room, taking a long look around the mansion, and on noticing nothing out of place, scratched the offending itch on his bare chest. Bare chest… He was naked. In the middle of Stark’s mansion.

A quick look down proved that yes, he had no clothes on, and Clint felt a small sense of panic… He turned on his heel and made a dash for his room, but not before hearing a startled yell. 

“WHY ARE YOU NAKED IN MY HOUSE?!”

Slamming the door, Clint let a long breath out before chuckling to himself: shit. It wasn’t as if he was body conscious, in fact, he didn’t mind his figure and was confident without clothes on. It was only the fact that this was Tony Stark, and that he knew he didn’t want to see him naked…. Actually, that sounded insulting… why did he care about that? The archer physically shook his head and pushed off the wall and collected, then put on, articles of clothing.

Once he was fully dressed, Clint exited his room once more and headed for the kitchen, catching Stark’s shocked gaze from his place by the counter top. 

“I cannot believe you walked out of your room naked” the genius said quietly “I mean who does that?”

“I’m sorry” Clint responded “My brain’s still fuzzy from last night”

Stark hummed in agreement, taking the mug of coffee on the counter top and drinking from it deeply “It was a good night” 

“So…” Clint said slowly, hoping that the genius would have a response. 

“Remember when you said you didn’t chase girls anymore?” Stark said suddenly.

“Yeah?” the archer answered slowly, watching the genius cautiously

“And how you said it was because you hurt them?” he continued boldly

“Where are you going with this?” Clint asked, becoming both suspicious and defensive at the same time. 

“Well…. How do you know if you don’t try?” Stark answered slowly, locking eyes with the younger man “I’m not trying to dictate your relationship, but what if you didn’t hurt people anymore? What if it was a one off?”

“Stark, that’s like asking what if you didn’t suffer from anxiety” It slipped out before Clint could halt it, and the look of surprise that flashed across the man’s face made the archer regret it instantly. 

“You know about that?” Stark asked quietly, eyes falling away from the archer’s gaze. 

“I…. yeah, I’ve seen the symptoms before…” Clint answered, glancing down at his feet “Sorry” 

“No… no it’s fine… I just didn’t think that… never mind” 

“Listen… I’ll take your advice on the dating thing, but… I’m a bit rusty” The archer admitted. 

Stark grinned and huffed a laugh “That’s okay, women like a man who doesn’t flirt with people often, because then they feel like they must be special if they’re the one being flirted with” 

“Yes but… I haven’t flirted with someone in ages.” Clint said slowly, watching the genius with caution as the older man moved away from the counter top and stood in front of the archer. 

“Flirt with me” He demanded, eyes locked onto Clint’s confidently.

The archer couldn’t find the words at first, and then he scoffed “What? No, that’s ridiculous” he said quickly, dismissing the genius’s idea. 

“Come on” Stark said, smiling genuinely “It’s not like I’m going to drag you to my bedroom if I like what I hear”

“No but… come on! We’re team mates! I can’t flirt with you!” Clint argued, feeling flustered and oddly skittish.

“Barton, I’m not asking you to wine and dine me here… just give me a couple of lines so I know what I’m working with here” the genius said gently, placing his hands on the archer’s shoulders. 

“Okay uh… Hi?” Clint began, brows raised as he watched the genius’s facial reactions. 

“Your opening line is “hi”?” Stark responded, a smile creeping its way onto his features.

“Shut up I told you I can’t flirt with you” The archer retorted.

“Okay, I’ll play along… Hi, I’m Tony” The genius said, letting his hands fall away from Clint’s shoulders. 

“Nice to meet you, so, I noticed that you’re a fan of Def Leppard, ever been to one of their concerts?” The archer responded, locking eyes with the older man as he did so.

“Uh… yes actually, I was younger, probably about sixteen” Stark answered “I remember it because I snuck out at around eleven at night”

“How’d you get the money for that?” Clint asked “Sorry… That was rude…” 

“Don’t worry about it, my dad was rich: I took his card.” The genius assured “Do you want to get a drink?” 

“I… I just can’t I’m sorry it’s just… I don’t know” The archer said, ducking his head, a light blush dusting his cheeks. 

Stark grinned “You’re cute when you’re flustered Barton” the genius then patted Clint on the shoulder and jumped up onto the counter top nearby “Maybe you should just walk up to a woman and stutter and blush”

“Shut up” Clint snapped, scowling slightly.

“You shut up, I’m only making light of the situation” Stark retorted

The archer was about to snap at him before he held himself back, because really, Stark didn’t deserve his temper. The way the genius worked was by joking or by not acknowledging the seriousness of the situation. 

“Yeah… sorry, I don’t like being made fun of”

Stark grinned reassuringly “Don’t worry about it Legolas, you’ll do fine… and I’ll try not insult you so much” 

Clint smiled softly “Thanks Tin Head”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clint's just a little adorable in this one, but kind of broody, and his opening line is hi... but you know what so is mine so it's all good.


	11. Cruising Through Battlefields

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint goes on another international mission, goes AWOL and is then brought back and ambushed by Stark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this is the final chapter of Part One of Three Strikes, and Part Two is nearly finished, the break between parts should hopefully be between one and two months. If you have anything, anything at all that needs asking, feel free to do so because if you don't ask I'll never know. 
> 
> Thankyou for your continued support with this story, hopefully it will be updated soon.
> 
> Happy Reading!

It was May when Clint finally got back into his assigned missions, the first being in Constantine, Algeria. The weather was cool as he rolled his bike away from the port, crawling through the fast paced city as he looked around, managing to get directions with broken Arabic and then rocketed off, weaving through public transport and vehicles easily, a cool wind attacking his bare arms as he broke a few speed laws and almost ran over a few people. 

He stopped outside a large building, holding the bike up with one leg on the ground as he surveyed the high rise from the road. Inside were about a hundred HYDRA agents, all working with undercover adversaries in the field, feeding them important information.

Pulling his helmet off of his head and slipping a long sleeved shirt over his form, Clint took out his bow, SHIELD badge and two quivers of arrows. Checking that his knife and pistol were still strapped to his person, he set down the kickstand to his bike and chained it, his duffel bag and his helmet to a heavy duty post and entered the building. 

First, he walked up to the front desk, meeting the eyes of the man behind it, who was dressed in a neatly pressed suit, wearing thin framed glasses that highlighted his features nicely. He had neatly groomed, blonde hair that was cut short and he looked about twenty five. 

Maybe he had the wrong building…

“Do you speak English?” Clint asked in badly executed, broken Arabic that Stark had taught him in the span of two days. 

The young man smiled and nodded “How can I help you?”

Clint breathed out a sigh and grinned “I’m looking for someone; his name is Eric Carter… where would I find him?” 

“He’s up on the thirty second floor, I’ll let him know you’re on your way… could I get your name sir?” he responded brightly. Clint was reminded of Nova, a hero with super-speed whom he’d only met once, the young boy had been bright and happy, and the archer had enjoyed his company. 

A name… Clint needed a name that wouldn’t give him away… “Chris Bradley… just let him know it’s a mythical matter” 

“The elevator is to the right” The young man replied, typing away at a rapid pace. 

Clint nodded to the blonde and adjusted the bow strapped to his chest, sliding a cover over the opening of the quiver at his back and walking in the direction of the elevator, taking in the high ceiling, the neatly polished floor and the pristine glass windows. 

He wondered if he had chosen the right career path. 

Not that he had any interest in business, but when he looked at people like Tony Stark and Victor Hill, he wondered what life would have been like for him if he had run a company… would he be just as rich as they were? Or would he end up like Reed Richards? Or would he find it too hard to juggle two lives like Matthew Murdock and end up leaving the country for three years?

The elevator doors opened with a soft ‘ding’ and he stepped in, dancing around the people exiting the elevator and hitting the button for the 32nd floor, feeling slightly dizzy when the elevator started climbing. Clint sighed heavily when the usual, repetitive music that was always played in elevators began. He leaned against the cool wall of the elevator and watched the numbers climb, wondering what other people were doing right now, and if anyone else was on their way to infiltrate a secret base, planning to kill the leader of the operation without alerting the rest of the building…

Unless that person was Natasha Romanov, Clint highly doubted it. 

After a few minutes the archer was finally on the correct floor and he stepped out of the elevator, strolling along the hall and knocking twice on the oak door in front of him, opening it and stepping into the room, composing himself for some experimental acting. 

“Mr Carter” Chris said, voice cool and emotionless.

The man in front of him was in his mid-thirties or late forties, a five o’clock shadow hiding his jaw’s bone structure from Clint’s view; he had black hair that was swept back into a neat, no nonsense hairstyle. 

“You’re Chris Bradley then?” He asked boredly, eyes focused on the documents in front of him, and not Chris. 

As if he was going to tolerate that. 

Chris rested his hand on the desk in front of him, leaning down to gain the man’s attention, face barely an inch away from theirs. “You should pay attention to me Carter, I like it when people listen to what I have to say, because unlike my predecessors, I won’t tolerate ignorance” he paused for a moment, smirking when he caught the shock and fear in the man’s eyes. 

He hadn’t raised his voice and was still using the same even tone, but Carter was clearly frightened, which was exactly what he wanted. 

“Now, I’m in a country I don’t want to be in, running errands for my benefactor, talking to some big shot in a swivel chair… Can you tell me, Mr Carter, how pissed off would you be?” Chris paused for another second before he continued “So, how about we get this done quick and easy, and you can go back to being an asshole to your employees?” 

Carter nodded slowly, reaching down into one of his desk’s drawers and pulled out a black manila folder and handed it to Chris, who took it from his shaking hands gently “How long do we have until you come again?” 

“Three months” he said softly, turning on the ball of his foot and walking out, ignoring the call of protest that left Carter’s mouth. 

Clint sighed deeply and tucked the manila folder under his arm, deliberately running into the man walking out of the elevator, HYDRA insignia pinned to his chest. As he apologised, he pressed down on the man’s arm, effectively delivering poison to his bloodstream. The archer then slipped into the elevator and hit the button for the ground floor, only catching the sound of shock from the agent as the doors clicked shut. 

The elevator dinged and opened and Clint strolled out, nodding to the young man at the desk and leaving the building. He unchained and mounted his bike, lifting the kickstand and pulling his helmet over his head, flipping the visor down and starting the engine. Rocketing off and back onto the crowded roads of Constantine. 

///

Constantine was quite a beautiful city, and Clint didn’t feel like leaving just yet. He spent some of the money he had been given on a hotel room by the centre city bridge and spent the day exploring the big city on foot. He even made plans to drive to Istanbul if he had the chance.

Within the first three days of his stay Clint had been to old palaces, mosques and stood on the edge of the city, looking down large gaps between two cities. He had eaten out at restaurants and had attended a few local events and mostly spent his nights out on the balcony of his hotel, watching the sky above him. 

It was nice, Clint never took holidays, but being able to do what he wanted at his leisure was a nice feeling, and he understood why people did it. It was the feeling of getting away, of having no commitments and being able to sit back and watch the world go by; he reminded himself to ask Stark if he’d taken any holidays and if they could go on one as a team… 

It was a bright, sunny morning when Clint set out for Istanbul, paying for his stay at the hotel and then driving off on his motorbike, stopping to ask directions only once. He had to travel through Italy and pay about a dozen tolls then suffer through seasickness on a ferry, but he made it to Istanbul in two days. 

He’d always wanted to visit the city, ever since he’d learned about the history it had and about the architecture it housed. The second hand accounts really couldn’t match what Clint saw though, and he didn’t want to leave, staying for over two weeks. 

He had only just gotten back to his hotel room when he phone rang, and he answered it, body relaxed and feeling better than he had in years. 

“Barton here” his said it slowly, unlike all the times when he’d clipped it out because he knew the person on the other line had something important to say.

_“Are you coming home anytime soon? Also, are you aware you’re in Turkey? How am I supposed to keep an eye on you in Turkey?”_

Clint smirked, it was Stark, whining as usual “You could come and get me… I am never leaving. Stark, third world countries are great, you can just… you don’t have to plan anything” 

_“Are you high? Don’t answer that. Listen, I’m on my way to get you because if I don’t Fury will kick my ass seven ways to Sunday”_

“All the way?” The archer asked smugly. 

_“Yes Barton allll the way”_ Stark responded, exaggerating the ‘all’ in order to stretch out the word, a hint of amusement in his tone.

“Okay Stark, I’ll be ready to go when you get here” Clint complied, hanging up the phone and flopping onto the bed behind him. 

Of course, he should have expected SHIELD to come and get him eventually, the fact that they’d let him have almost three weeks off was incredible, but sending Stark after him was a bit much. SHIELD had; however, successfully turned the genius into a lap dog under threat of disbandment from the Avengers, and Stark really seemed to like the team, and his place on it; which Clint couldn’t quite understand. Either way, both he and Stark were in the same position: screwed by SHIELD.

///

“You have a private jet?!” Clint asked from where he was leaning against his bike, helmet gripped in his right hand.

“I have a lot of private things” was Stark’s clever remark “Now we have to get your bike on it”

“What?”

“It fits my suits, so why not your bike” the genius reasoned, grinning slightly, almost lopsidedly.

“What?” Clint just couldn’t fathom putting his bike into a jet “You’re nuts”

“Only macadamias” Stark quipped, jerking his head in the direction of his jet “C’mon, let’s get in the air before sunset, I’d like to try and see a green flash” 

“Green flash?” Clint asked as he wheeled his bike over to the jet and began working with Stark to put it inside the metal bird. 

“Green flashes are optical phenomena that occur shortly after sunset or before sunrise, when a green spot is visible, usually for no more than a second or two, above the sun” Stark answered almost automatically, and Clint assumed he got asked that question all the time “I haven’t had the chance to see one yet but I’m making an effort to try before I die” 

“That’s such an odd thing to put on a bucket list” Clint said as they finished putting his bike in the jet and got in themselves “Most people put stuff like ‘see the Grand Canyon’ or something along those lines” 

“I’ve seen the Grand Canyon, dozens of times, it’s not that grand anymore” The genius answered as he began setting coordinates into the plane. Clint sat down as he was doing this and gratefully slumped into the plush seat.

“So it’s just Canyon?” Clint remarked quickly, not willing to pass Stark up on anything. 

“Yup” Stark answered simply “Just the Canyon… yawn, sigh, let’s see something else dad I’m tired of this big ugly hole in the ground” 

The archer huffed and smiled, Stark always had a way with words, going from one thing to another at such a rapid pace that sometimes it was hard to keep up, or making subtle references here and there, so hard to catch that you really had to pay attention… or, if you were lucky, a bad pun.

“So what’s on your bucket list Katniss?” the genius asked, sitting down across from Clint in one of the seats in the jet. 

“Uh… I don’t have a bucket list… I just sort of do whatever I do… you know?” The archer responded, ignoring the nickname: he was used to it now, and found it almost brotherly… except this was Stark, so, it could be a flirt tactic. 

“Yeah” Stark assured “I do that too sometimes… rolling with the punches is somehow…” the genius stopped to think of a word then, brow furrowing in concentration.

“Easier?” Clint offered, grinning when Stark positively beamed at him. 

“That’s the word” 

“You have words such as phenomena in your vocabulary but the word easier fails you?” The archer commented with a wry smile. 

“I can’t be with it all the time, just like you can’t be on missions all the time… we both need our rest and sometimes I just decide that I’m going to stop thinking for a second.” Stark explained lightly, taking no offense towards Clint’s remark. “It usually happens when I have to be intelligent”

Clint hummed in agreement and looked out the window, noticing that Stark joined him after a moment of watching the archer. He watched as the sky went from orange to purple to dark blue, and then finally to black, but before the black hit, a flash of green jetted across the sky. 

“Wow” He breathed “That’s… quite a bucket list item”

“Yeah” Stark agreed, sitting back in his seat and closing his eyes, form relaxed “You know… I’ve never slept on a plane before…” 

“How the hell can you not sleep in this thing? It’s more like a flying mansion than a private jet” Clint exclaimed incredulously. 

The genius chuckled “Everything can be made luxurious if you have the dedication… and I spend too much time worrying anyway” 

Stark’s anxiety, of course, Clint almost slapped himself; he should have remembered that. Somehow, he always managed to overlook Stark’s problems… he assumed it was because the genius was well practised at hiding his problems from others, Clint wondered how much time the man spent practising smiling in front of the mirror. 

The archer’s thoughts drifted away as he shifted into a comfortable position on the seat, glancing at Stark, who had procured a book, The Raven, from seemingly nowhere; and was busying himself with reading it. Clint took that as a sign that he should get some sleep before he got too excited about being in a private jet, so he closed his eyes and eventually drifted off.

///

When Clint woke his watch read 3:14 am and the archer sighed, glancing out the window of the jet and watching the sky roll by for a moment. Stark was across from him, eyes closed and breathing even, Clint assumed that he was asleep. He had never seen the genius sleep before, and felt a sort of fascination as he watched Stark. The archer smiled gently when the genius murmured in his sleep and then stood, picking up the book the genius had dropped off of the floor and placing it on one of the tables. Clint then stood and entered the kitchen (A kitchen on a jet, no kidding) and made himself a coffee, returning to the main area of the jet and sipping the hot ambrosia. 

Clint sat quietly and continued to drink from his mug, alternating between watching Stark and the window of the jet. Eventually, Clint resorted to making himself breakfast, which was something he could quite possibly do given the kitchen on the plane. 

He simply organised enough ingredients to make enough for both himself and Stark, then proceeded to make something he hadn’t eaten in a long time: pancakes. He remembered when he was younger that Coulson would always make them when he was waiting for Clint to wake up, and that he’d put something different in them each time. He also remembered hanging around with Deadpool for a day and watching as the mercenary made more pancakes than either of them could eat. Pancakes were symbolic to Clint, they represented the memories of times when he was only a young agent, and still learning the tricks of the trade, when he had been hasty in his performance and unprofessional in his reports. 

But he had been happier.

Once the pancakes were ready, he walked over to Stark and placed a hand on the man’s shoulder, squeezing gently. The genius stirred and his eyes opened, vision unfocused until he blinked twice, gazing at Clint, before he groaned and looked at his watch, whining when he read the time. 

The archer chuckled and patted the genius on the shoulder gently “Come on, I made breakfast”

“You made breakfast? Wow… no one’s ever made me breakfast before” Stark responded, almost to himself, as he stood and stretched, several joints popping as he did so.

Clint grinned and brought out two plates piled with pancakes out and placed them on the table in the room, moving back to the kitchen to get butter, maple syrup, strawberry and blueberry jam and ice cream.

“Ice cream for breakfast?” Stark asked disbelievingly. 

“Kids do it, plus it tastes amazing” The archer explained, proceeding to pile ice cream and maple syrup onto his pancakes.

The genius shrugged and proceeded to slather his pancakes in blueberry jam, and then wandered off to the kitchen, returning with a punnet of blueberries, which he placed strategically on his food. 

Both men ate in silence, passing witticisms at irregular intervals, before JARVIS informed them that they were twenty minutes out of Los Angeles airport. 

“So, when we get back to Malibu, I’m getting you a girlfriend, because you decided to take a three week holiday and leave me to deal with Mr Cranky Pirate” Stark began, collecting his and Clint’s plates and putting them in the sink, starting the water and letting it run while he walked back over to the archer “You owe me one” 

“But… you can’t just choose a girlfriend for me, and we’ve already established that I can’t flirt with anyone because my opening line is ‘hi’… Who did you even set up anyway?” Clint argued, watching the genius cautiously and hating the grin that took over the older man’s features.

“Sophie King”


	12. Ambushed And Hog–Tied

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapters a bit strange in my opinion, but now I'm back and Part Two is a fe chapters from finished I think I owe everyone another chapter and its reasonably big, I mean, not compared to a novel's chapter but its full of... dwelling and feelings and all that fun stuff. 
> 
> Thanks again for sticking with me this far.
> 
> On to Three Strikes

The restaurant was nice, but really expensive, he would never have afforded it if not for Stark lending him one of his many credit cards; it was embarrassing to think that he had to borrow money to afford a dinner at a restaurant… but then, he wasn’t exactly paid. He was dressed in a suit, a black tie at his neck which was tied by Stark, who had smiled at him reassuringly and patted him on the shoulder, saying “You’ll be fine” before giving him keys to another of the genius’s expensive cars and telling him to go before he was late. 

The restaurant itself was light by small cylinders of light at each table, which gave the building a gentle orange glow, he was seated by a window, which showed the view of the ocean over the roofs of a few buildings, as the restaurant was on the top floor of a high rise (The height actually comforted him, and he wondered if Stark had known that that would be the case). 

At first, Clint didn’t recognise Sophie, but when she began walking over to his table he was out of his seat in seconds, meeting her halfway and smiling when he shook her hand. He had forgotten small things about her, but when you saw about fifty faces a second you tended to forget what people looked like up close. She was wearing a green evening gown that fit nicely to her figure and flared out towards her feet. She looked beautiful.

“Hey, how’ve you been?” he asked, leading her over to their table and pulling out her chair, before seating himself. 

“I’ve been great actually, work’s been interesting lately” She responded brightly “Also, this was a nice surprise” 

“I think it was a surprise for both of us really” Clint responded “I’ve never been set up on a date before”

“Me either” Sophie admitted “When Tony called me I wasn’t expecting him to ask if I’d have dinner with you... but I think it’s a good idea”

“You do?” Clint asked, curious. 

“Well, Tony told me you don’t get out because of your occupation and neither do I so it’s gets us away from our jobs and lets us socialise with people we don’t really know” Sophie answered “I think it’s a reasonable excuse to go out to dinner” 

“On Stark’s dollar as well” Clint added with good humour, smiling when his date laughed in response. 

“Then we’d better think expensive” She said playfully, glancing out the window for a moment, before turning back to the archer “So… what do you do Clint?” 

“Would you believe me if I said I work for an organisation separate from the government and keep everyone from being enslaved by power hungry bad guys?” The archer asked, maintaining a serious tone throughout the question. 

“I think I would, you gave off a ‘secret agent’ vibe when I met you” Sophie answered immediately.

Clint smiled, confidence growing, he reminded himself to thank Stark when he got home. Sophie was a regular citizen, and normally he’d trouble talking to normal citizens, but she was smart, and understood a good joke. Another good thing about Sophie King was that she didn’t press questions on people and seemed to like Clint. 

///

When he got back later that night he had barely walked through the door and Stark had ambushed him.

“So how was it?” 

Clint laughed “Good, she’s really nice and smart… but”

The genius looked at him sadly “Why did there have to be a but?”

“I just can’t risk her life, it’s enough that I’m risking my apartment complex and the people in it, let alone a woman who has nothing to do with me apart from a date” The archer said seriously, having thought it over on the ride home, because he needed to look closely at how much he did; HYDRA was only a few steps behind him… and that was a frightening concept. 

Stark sighed heavily and placed a gentle hand on the archer’s shoulder “Are you ever selfish?” 

“No” Clint answered “I’m not arrogant enough to be selfish” 

“Barton, you’re a strange one” The genius responded, patting the archer’s shoulder gently before walking away. 

Clint smiled softly at that, he thought he had caught a hint of admiration in Stark’s tone, and that was… nice really. He wasn’t usually the one people admired… and to be that by Stark’s standards was a small milestone, because the genius wasn’t one to take a role model, or one to fall over himself to impress someone better than him. Stark was different, as Clint was, and the archer agreed that the reason he and the genius got along so well was because they were different.

///

_He was burning, the fire alive and real as it snaked its way up his body, red tongues lapping away at his flesh. His skin was falling away to bone and somewhere out in the distance he heard laughter. He screamed for help and laughter drowned him out, the flames climbing higher and higher…_

Clint jerked awake, sitting up straight, back rigid and muscles tense. His body was covered in sheens of sweat and the blankets were tangled around him from his movements in his sleep. He exhaled slowly and slumped his shoulders, relaxed his muscles and kept breathing slowly. His heart rate slowed and he grew calmer, he closed his eyes and opened them, focusing his vision before falling back onto the bed, sighing softly. 

It had been a nightmare, but a vivid one at that, those flames felt real and that laughter… he couldn’t place it but he knew that laugh. He supposed that he’d remember in the morning, or that he’d forget, but either way he decided he would be fine, and fell asleep.

The next morning Clint felt fuzzy and hot, as the air in the mansion was warm as the morning sun baked the rooms through the large open windows. He was dressed in a blue tank top and faded grey jeans and his bare feet made no noise on the floor beneath him. Suddenly, Clint realised that Stark’s mansion was no longer strange to him, and that he knew the house just as he knew his apartment. 

“Hey Barton, happy anniversary” Stark called from behind him, grinning when the archer met his gaze and handing the younger man a mug of coffee.

“A year already?” Clint asked, smirking when the genius laughed. 

“I expected ‘Already feels like a lifetime of pain’ or something along those lines” The genius admitted, taking a drink from his own mug. 

“Ah you’re alright Stark, a bit of a pain but you know… whatever” The archer responded, a soft smile on his face. 

“I’m touched Cupid” Stark said, sounding somewhat genuine as he beckoned for Clint to follow him “Got you a gift” 

“You got me a gift? Why on Earth would you do that?” Clint asked, surprise softening his voice, feeling warmth spread through him: no one got him gifts. 

“Because, you put up with me for a year, I don’t know anyone who’s lived under my roof for a year without going mad or leaving once I spoke to them” The genius said lightly, but Clint couldn’t help but feel a little down at the older man’s comment… the fact that Stark rarely had company, or was too “unstable” to tolerate was… disappointing. If people couldn’t put up with someone and accept their faults then what kind of people were they?

“Okay” Stark’s voice broke through his thoughts and then genius handed Clint a long piece of fabric “Put that on” 

“A blind fold?” Clint asked while complying “Do I really need a blindfold?”

“Yes you do now trust me” The genius implored, taking the archer’s hand and leading him along.

Clint had started when Stark had taken his hand, he hadn’t expected it and was shocked to find that he didn’t mind one bit. 

“Okay, now, don’t freak out because it’s awesome” the genius informed, stopping Clint by placing his hands on the archer’s shoulders before removing them to untie the blind fold. 

It took a brief moment for Clint to adjust his vision before his eyes caught sight of a bow resting on the table in front of him; the tell-tale bend in the grip made it none other than the Experience… He had been after this bow for years, its draw and release was like a whisper and its power was almost unbeatable. Stark had brought him a bow… 

He took the bow in his hands gently and smoothed over it curves, noticing the name “Hawkeye” engraved on one side, slid his fingers over the string, and then gently put the bow down, turning to the genius behind him. 

“Thank you” he said, so sure that the words would never be enough. 

“I saw you swooning over it months ago, so I did some digging and found one for you… you’re welcome” Stark said, a small smile blooming on his features. 

Clint let out a short laugh of both surprise and happiness and grinned widely “I… can I hug you? Would that be weird?” 

The genius shrugged and shook his head, letting out a noise of surprise when the archer almost launched himself into the older man, gripping him tightly. Stark returned the embrace after a brief moment of stillness and the two men pulled away. 

“Was it weird?” Stark asked, watching Clint for any sign of awkwardness; there wasn’t a trace. 

“Not at all” The archer admitted “Seriously… I don’t know how I’m going to repay you” 

“You don’t have to” the older man assured “I’m happy when you’re happy Karai”

“Where on Earth do you get all of these archers from?” Clint asked, finally getting the question out in the open. 

Stark shrugged “I watch a lot of movies” 

The archer laughed, took up his new bow, and walked out of the workshop where they had been in with the genius by his side. Clint couldn’t break the smile on his face, the bow was a huge surprise to him, and Stark getting it for him was an even bigger one… he glanced at the genius by his side and a different sensation hit him at full force, it was something akin to like, instead of mutual respect; a feeling of admiration. Clint caught another feeling too but couldn’t name it, and chose to ignore it. 

///

Clint’s next mission was in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, during the month of July, the drive would take a day and then some on the shortest route, so he decided he would stop in Denver for a night. Stark had been adamant in touching up Clint’s bike before he left, the archer himself was busy with his new bow, shooting with it at a nearby range. When his bike was finished, Clint strapped what he needed onto his bike and after an awkward hug from Tony he was on his way. 

The air was cold as it whipped past his body, bike rumbling beneath him as it ate up the miles on the desolate highway. Trees and small shrubs flew across his vision and he took the turn off to Denver soon after, adjusting his speed as he slowly began to merge with local traffic, keeping his eye out for a decent hotel.

He found one at around ten, checked in and crashed on the old, scratchy, lumpy, overall horrible bed and groaned loudly in protest. Sure, he hadn’t expected a soft, silk like texture beneath him but this… this was horrible. He slid off the bed and left the hotel, pulling his jacket closer to his body as he walked through the cool streets of Denver. He was jostled by other people as they pushed past him in their hurry to get home or go out to an event. One man, shorter than Clint by maybe an inch, shoved into the archer roughly; it didn’t take the archer long to realise that the man had stolen his wallet. He stopped, turned on his heel and called out across the crowds, shoving people aside as he noticed the man turn and flee from him. 

The thief zipped into an alleyway and Clint followed just as quickly, pushing off the wall and sprinting at the man, launching himself at the man and forcing him to ground, pressing him into the asphalt beneath him. 

“Give it back” Clint growled, pulling the gun from his waistband and holding it to the man’s head. 

“Go to hell” he spat at the archer, crying out when Clint bent his arm towards his middle. 

He chuckled humourlessly “You’ll give it back, or I’ll take it from you when you’re dead” 

Shakily, the thief reached into his pocket and pulled the archer’s wallet from it, pushing the leather bound object onto the ground, small, shaky breaths leaving his slim form.

Clint reacquired his wallet, stood up and dusted his hands off, watching as the other man darted out of the alleyway like a startled fox. Re-holstering his gun, Clint left the alleyway and joined the thinning crowds, making his way back to the hotel. 

He had been viscous to that man… had managed to scare the thief so easily that Clint wondered exactly how he appeared to people. He was hard muscled, tall and had a sharp gaze and, apparently, a harsh voice… was that all people saw him as? Hawkeye: world’s scariest marksman. 

Clint shook his head as if to clear his thoughts as he opened the door to his room and lay back down on the horrible bed, staring up at the hairline cracks in the ceiling and tracing them with his eyes. Maybe it was instinct, the instinct from his younger years that if he wasn’t intimidating; he would be killed or have his possessions stolen… the back alleys and carnivals were a kill or be killed world, one that left the person living in it paranoid almost permanently. 

Clint didn’t claim to be well adjusted: he wasn’t. The world he lived in now wasn’t what he was used to; he trusted no one until they had proven their worth, kept his emotions closely guarded, and pushed himself beyond the expectations of everyone; because if he hadn’t done so when he first joined SHIELD, he would be in prison now. 

Clint dwelled on this for a long time, but soon his eye lids began to grow heavy, and he surrendered to sleep.

///

Milwaukee was experiencing nice weather when Clint drove into the city, coming to a stop behind a car at a cross intersection. The ride into the city had been a crawl, large lines of cars coming into the city, but only one or two leaving; everyone was going to work or sightseeing. He hated traffic. 

Clint groaned in frustration when only two cars passed through the green light at the intersection, then edged in between the gaps in the lanes, squeezing past a few cars cautiously. After another minute or so he edged forward and three cars passed this time. 

Clint came to the front of the line by weaving between vehicles, and when the light hit green he rocketed off, almost colliding with a driver who had ran a red light. He spent the rest of his journey weaving between cars. All he wanted was to go home, have a coffee and maybe just sleep for a few days, then turn off his phone and ignore SHIELD for as long as possible.

As he sped through the city, he kept an eye out for his target, eyes scanning the crowds as he zipped by, bringing the bike to a sudden stop when his eyes caught his target on a balcony three floors above ground. Backing his bike off the road, Clint pulled an arrow from his quiver and drew the bow tight, enjoying the lack of protest from his newest weapon. His shot was lined up, a little to the right due to the wind resistance, and he took in a breath for the shot. The force of another person shoving him knocked him over and spoiled his shot, causing the arrow to hit the wall beside his target, who looked at him and ran immediately. 

Clint growled and turned to the man who had ran into him, noting the tell-tale insignia of a HYDRA agent and scowling at the man. He could have been halfway out of the city by now. 

“Hawkeye I presume?” He said smoothly, a satisfied smirk on his face.

Clint’s scowl only became darker at the comment “You just lost me my target” HYDRA had finally caught up with him, somehow they had to have known where and when he was on his mission, which meant one of three things: One: they were getting smarter, Two: They had a traitor in SHIELD or Three: A villain really wanted him dead. 

Or maybe it was all three.

Clint couldn’t be sure, and pushed the matter away, setting his bow and quiver down next to his bike, which had toppled over: he hoped it wasn’t broken. He would have to kill this agent, here and now, if he was going to have any chance of escaping. 

His thoughts were interrupted when the agent across from him threw a wide punch, allowing for Clint to duck under the assault and shoot a punch at the man’s side, retreating out of the HYDRA agent’s reach. The agent had yelled when Clint’s fist had hit his side with a quick, brute force and didn’t notice the next punch that collided with his calf, hitting a point that forced the man to his knees.

Clint smiled slightly, it was more a thing of sick pleasure than happiness, because deep down he liked hurting people, the sick, twisted part of him liked to cause pain. But it was channelled towards his enemies and made him a powerful adversary. Natasha had taught him more than enough about fighting and he himself had a deadly precision that even the powerful Black Widow had praised.

Within the span of seconds Clint had bent the agent forward, gripped his head tightly and pulled back roughly, hearing the tell-tale crack and feeling his enemy’s body slump. He let go of his now dead attacker and stood up his bike, checking it for dints and finding none, sighing in relief. 

His target would be gone by now, so Clint didn’t bother looking for him, all he did was remount his bike and the vehicle sprang to life, once again roaring through Milwaukee and out onto the open highway.

It was three in the morning when the sight of flashing lights behind him caught his eye, and Clint sighed, knowing that he’d been speeding since he passed through Denver, not wanting to stop and rest on a horrible bed again. He was tired and just wanted to sleep, he didn’t want nor need the hindrance of the police. He pulled over reluctantly and waited for the authoritative figure to walk up to his motorbike and stand, hands on her hips, hat tipped back to reveal harsh green eyes. 

“Do you realise how fast you were going?” She accused snippily, either she was given the night shift out of a random draw or change of shift, or she had been working for hours. 

“Did you come up with that all by yourself?” Clint responded boredly, having heard the line more than a hundred times during his travels across American highways.

The police woman’s eyes narrowed and her lips pursed: definitely been on shift for too long “I’m writing you up a minor fine, pay it within the set date and you won’t have any more trouble”

He took the small piece of paper from her and slipped it into his pocket “Gee officer, I really am sorry” he said, smiling as he heard a small scoff as she walked away, and he only just caught the reply of “Get out of my sight before I arrest you… country hick” over the sound of his engine.

///

When he finally got back to Malibu; pulling his bike, which seemed far heavier than when he had set out, into Stark’s garage, Clint had never felt as exhausted as he did then. Pulling his helmet away from his head and placing it on the seat of his bike, which was now leaning on its kickstand, Clint ran his hands through his matted blonde hair, which was growing longer as he continued to neglect it. He trudged up the stairs heavily and caught the sound of Stark’s voice in the lounge room.

He was singing. Clint had never heard the man sing before, and when he did it was when he caught soft murmurs of the lyrics to a song that were barely audible. Stark’s singing was accompanied by a piano and Clint wondered if this was what he always missed when he was on missions. Suddenly, he felt full of energy. 

“Hey Sta-ark!” he sang the man’s name across the room, and the playing of the piano ended with a flourish of notes.

“Yes my ever snarky archer roomie?” The genius responded in the same tone as Clint. 

“I’m back” he stated, as if it weren’t obvious. Clint watched as Stark’s eyes flicked up and down over Clint, before he smirked slightly.

“You need a haircut” Stark said “And maybe a shower” 

The feeling of exhaustion turned up again at the thought of a warm shower and Clint groaned, kneading his forehead with his hands “I just want a nap”

“Okay” The genius responded gently, patting the archer on the shoulder “Why don’t you have a shower and relax your muscles, then sleep for the rest of the day?” 

“What happened to sleeping during the day ruining my sleep pattern?” Clint teased as Stark walked him (arm on his shoulder in a guiding way, as if Clint were going to fall over without help) to his room. 

“Your sleep pattern is already half way to hell” The genius scoffed “And I really don’t want you collapsing somewhere” 

He entered his room with Stark in tow, and barely took the time to take his shoes off before he pulled back the bed sheets, settled in, then pulled the covers back over his clothed form. He closed his eyes and sighed quietly, body relaxing immediately. Screw the shower.

“Hey” Stark’s voice broke through his fuzzy thoughts as he drifted off “Hey, don’t sleep yet” 

Clint groaned in protest and forced one eye open, hoping the one eyed glare was a menacing as he thought it was. 

The genius gave him a gentle smile, which almost looked apologetic “Once you’ve become clean and neat again, we have to hightail it to SHIELD, Fury wants both of us”

“Why?” he asked, hoping that he hadn’t done anything wrong because SHIELD was all he had. It was his life really: his job; they funded him; paid for his apartment, payed his medical bills and looked after him… without SHIELD… he was nothing. 

“He didn’t say… truth be told I’m worried” Stark responded, burying his hands into his pockets “Fury doesn’t just call and order someone to his base unless there’s a problem” 

“He’s not exactly one for social calls” Clint agreed, sitting up and patting the bed next to him, watching first confusion, then caution, and finally calm cross the genius’s features. 

“You would know… how long have you worked for him anyway?” Stark said softly, settling on the bed and leaning his back against the headboard, bringing one knee up and hugging it to his chest. 

It was a gesture Clint saw Stark do often, when the genius sat down his knees were always close to his chest, curled up when he was relaxing or held in his vice like grip when he was talking with someone whilst sitting. If Stark couldn’t get a hold of his legs then he’d opt for holding his right arm by the bicep, left straight across his chest or stomach. Clint noticed the genius did this a lot, but only when no one seemed to be looking, otherwise he was “open” and “carefree” around people. 

Clint had a feeling he knew better. 

“About four years now” he answered “I hope they aren’t firing me… I really wanted to hit five years before I died or whatever” 

Stark smiled “If they fired you they’d lose a great agent” 

“Really?” Clint responded doubtfully “You think I’m good?”

“Great” Stark corrected “I think you’re a great agent… You’ve got a lot of skill and no superpowers but you’re on the Avengers, not every SHIELD agent can say they’ve done that” 

“Thanks” Clint said quietly “That… means a lot” 

“Can… Can I ask you a question?” The genius asked quietly “Do you… Please don’t be insulted… do you get complimented often?”

He thought for a brief moment, and decided on shaking his head. He glanced at Stark, expecting pity, but only got a look of deep understanding, and it wasn’t a joke that left the man this time.

The genius rolled onto his side, supporting himself on one arm, and locked eyes with Clint, gaze sincere. He opened his mouth to speak, then paused and dropped his gaze, licking his lips before looking back at the archer. “I think you’re incredible” 

Stark’s hand fell over his and Clint glanced at their hands for a brief moment, before looking back up at the genius. He couldn’t form words. His brain searched for something, anything he could do or say, but nothing came to him… what was going on? When had Stark even considered grabbing his hand? He had only played the flirting off as playful, but what if he’d led Stark on? 

Wait wait, hold up, do not pass go, do not collect 200 dollars… had he led Stark on? It wasn’t as though he didn’t flirt back… then that feeling that he couldn’t pin last time came back and it was strong, like a roaring fire within his insides. 

“Tony I…” Clint was interrupted by Stark’s phone ringing, which was a high pitched pinging tone, obviously designed to wake the genius if he was sleeping when it rang. 

The genius’s hand pulled away, and the older man offered an apologetic smile “Hey, we’ll talk about it later… get some rest” And with that the genius had left the room, talking to whoever was on the phone quietly. 

How on earth was he supposed to sleep when Stark had thrown him that curve ball? Clint did however sink back into the bed, revelling in the soft sheets and smooth mattress, and watched the roof without truly seeing it. His thoughts were racing as he lay in the soft light of the sun fighting its` way through the dark blinds covering the window in his room. 

Stark wasn’t exactly the guy he hated anymore, the genius had found a way to get under Clint’s tough exterior and somehow had earned the archer’s respect. Now… now he had somehow warranted Clint’s affections, which… didn’t make sense, he was straight… wasn’t he? He’d never been with a man once, never thought about his own gender the way he did for Stark… hold up, he didn’t love Stark, he didn’t even like him; he respected him. It was different, definitely… 

It took a long time for Clint to fall asleep, but when he did, he was still dwelling on the same confusing thoughts. And as much as he tossed and turned, as much as he tried to move his thoughts, he could not help but question these new and alien feelings that were catching up to him… The worst part was that he couldn’t name them, couldn’t grasp them tightly by the throat and demand “why?” he could just reach into the darkness and hope for the best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: In the second version of this fiction, Clint sleeps with the police officer in her patrol car... I got rid of it because it just didn't fit.


	13. Wednesday: Day Of Chaos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really should have posted this on a Wednesday... ah well. The good news is Part Two's chapters are all lined up and I'll be updating weekly on a Friday, or Thursday-ish if you're in US time or anywhere around there. 
> 
> This chapters a big one, I had to split it in to because I felt there was too much in it for one chapter.
> 
> Okay, boring stuff over.

It was a Wednesday, Clint had always liked Wednesdays, as they were right in the middle of the week and were usually calm, tranquil, a day where he could turn his phone off and sleep. Turns out, super villains really liked Wednesday too: because about six had just broken out of their prisons.

Which meant, of course, Fury hated Wednesdays because they meant villains. And so, he called the Avengers in to do his dirty work. It was weird seeing the team again after so long, they’d all changed so much… except Stark, but Clint assumed that was because he was hanging around the genius and would be for another eleven months. 

Natasha had greeted him with an oddly affectionate hug and a gentle punch on the shoulder, they’d talked briefly, and she didn’t miss the new bow that was hugging his chest. Once he had told her it was a gift from Stark she raised a suspicious eyebrow but said nothing about it, only patted Clint on the shoulder and moved to talk to Captain America. 

He had shaken Bruce Banner’s hand and they had exchanged a brief small talk before Stark managed to make his way away from Thor to the scientist and had taken Bruce’s attention away from Clint. He didn’t really mind, he and Bruce only got along when they were one on one, and even that was to an extent.  


Thor had pulled him into a bone crushing embrace and then had proceeded to give him a strong pat on the back, which he greatly appreciated. He and the demigod talked as well, and Thor had apologised on Loki’s behalf, which Clint believed was more or less Thor being the nice guy he always is. Either way, Clint liked Thor, respected the demigod and they got along reasonably well. 

Next up was Steve Rodgers, who gave him a firm handshake and a welcoming smile. Clint just tried not to look ridiculous, because here was Captain America, SHIELD’s new golden boy and Coulson’s favourite superhero ever. Steve Rodgers was… in Clint’s eyes he was a man to be impressed, and he didn’t really consider himself as the guy who would impress Captain America. But, at least he wouldn’t be the guy who got on the Captain’s nerves (cough cough Tony Stark cough).

“Good to have you back… Clint?” Rodgers said, the archer’s name coming out as a question as the super-soldier smiled at the taller man. 

Clint smiled “I can’t say it’s good to be back but it’s good to see you Rodgers” after a beat of silence he added “Also, Clint is fine” 

“Barton, I was wondering when I would see you here again” 

Clint turned and noted Director Fury walking over to him, and met him halfway, shaking his boss’s hand. 

“You owe me a nap” he responded dully, smirking when the director laughed good-naturedly. 

“I’m sure I owe you a hundred naps, but do this one mission, and I’ll give you a vacation, fully paid for by SHIELD” Fury promised, still smiling as he released Clint’s hand and patted his agent’s shoulder

///

Clint learnt that the villains that had escaped from prison were Baron Zemo, Juggernaut, Trickshot, Whiplash, and Viper; Thor added one other to the end, who was not in prison, but was definitely a threat: Amora the Enchantress. Six villains, six heroes, the decision was obvious: they split up and take them down quickly. Apparently Fury was too ignorant for his own good, because he told them to take each one down as a team. Because apparently a one on one battle was ‘too risky’ (try telling that to their villains, who were adamant in glorious battles with their ultimate adversary). 

“Who should we look for first?” Steve asked, gaze falling over the other members of the team.

“Well… that’s like asking to rate the danger of these villains, which is stupid because really, they’re all dangerous” Stark responded carefully, hands resting heavily on the table in front of them. 

“We really should split up” Natasha said calmly, arms folded across her chest as she leant against the wall behind her “Pick a villain and go after them” 

“Fury may be stupid but there was merit to his words” Clint argued “We can’t risk it in case they team up on one of us” 

“What if we pulled them out of a hat?” Bruce suggested quietly.

A beat of silence passed, and Clint thought that it wasn’t a bad idea. “Do we have a hat?” He asked calmly.

Stark shrugged and pulled the helmet off of his Iron Man suit and set it down, pulling a piece of paper and pen from his suit pockets and writing down the villain’s names in-illegible scrawl before tearing up the paper and putting the slips in the helmet. After a moment of swishing and shaking the helmet Stark held it out to Natasha, who after a moment of thought, pulled out a slip, squinting at Stark’s terrible writing. 

“Juggernaut”

///

Clint had never fought Juggernaut before, and while they were searching for him he did as much research as he could. The Juggernaut’s alter ego was that of Cain Marko, who was an insanely strong immortal powered by some mystical gem. Bruce had told him that the Hulk was more than capable of taking him down, and that Thor would be able to as well. Clint was still worried, going up against super-villains always ended in injury. They found Marko in North Salem, heading towards the X-Mansion; which wasn’t good, because they were a day away. They jumped into action, descending from the helicarrier and preparing their own vehicles, Stark and Thor flying off as soon as they were on the ground and Clint and Steve gunning their motorcycle’s engines and rocketing off, Bruce and Natasha following in a four by four.

The states flew by, Clint racing Steve at irregular intervals, the older man taking the challenge in good spirits before Natasha told them to stop acting like children. At one point Stark joined them in the race, the genius flying the suit low on the ground and giving both motorcyclists a head start before flying past them at a speed that had Clint and Steve struggling for control of their bikes. Then Natasha had proceeded to ban races.

That didn’t stop Stark or Thor though. They raced in the sky, pushing each other to greater speeds, before the demigod shoved the genius playfully and it became a good natured battle in the sky. 

“Okay guys that’s enough, we’ve just gotten into New York” Natasha said over the comms, leading the way to North Salem, where they took to searching for Juggernaut.

They found him seven miles away from X-Mansion, and intercepted him on foot. Clint, strangely enough, got to the villain first and got the giant’s attention by shooting an explosive arrow at him. 

When Marko roared at him he smiled and waved. 

“I will crush you!” he yelled, voice loud and threatening. 

“How original” came the dry reply from Stark, who aimed one repulsor blast at Juggernaut’s head, and Clint almost heard the smile on Stark’s face when the giant jumped at him and missed by centimetres. 

Next, a bolt of lightning hit the villain, sending the giant to his knees in a scream of pain and surprise. As this happened, Natasha and Bruce reached Clint, the former sharing a glance with the archer. The Juggernaut responded by charging at the trio who were watching the battle unfold. Clint pushed Natasha out of the way and dove as far as he could to the right, only being saved from being crushed by Steve’s shield, which the soldier had thrown to knock the villain off course. The Hulk, who Clint hadn’t seen show up, stood in the Juggernaut’s way, braced himself, and took the impact of the Juggernaut’s charge, feet digging into the ground with the force. 

Thor flew down gracefully and struck the Juggernaut on the head once, managing to knock the villain out, the giant falling first to his knees and then onto his face. 

“Well…” Clint began “That was… thanks Cap” 

“Not a problem” Steve responded, smiling warmly and patting him on the shoulder.

“Let’s get him out of here, something wicked this way comes” Stark interjected, landing almost delicately and aiding Thor in lifting the Juggernaut, groaning in effort before enlisting the help of the Hulk.

Clint’s eyes caught the reason for Stark’s comment when he saw a small group of X-Men making their way over to them. The people he recognised were Wolverine, Cyclops, Gambit and Night-Crawler. 

“Okay, let’s get out of here” Clint urged, swinging his bow back across his chest and making his way over to the Avengers, hurrying them along as they tried to figure out how to get Juggernaut back to SHIELD. And then, like clockwork, the helicarrier was above them, and a lift was being lowered down for the Juggernaut, Natasha had walked over to the X-Men and was having a quiet argument with Wolverine while they loaded the villain onto the lift and reacquired their vehicles, but not before Thor pulled a name from the cap Stark had bought while they had passed through Indiana.

“Viper” 

///

Funded by HYDRA, Viper (Or Madame HYRDA as Clint knew her) was a villain whose aging process had been slowed and was an expert in poisons and toxins, finding creative ways to inject said poisons into her enemies’ bloodstream. She was adept in martial arts and marksmanship, which meant that they needed to stay out of the open, and she was immune to almost every toxin worldwide. 

Clint wasn’t looking forward to fighting her, as his missions had all dealt with HYDRA and he knew Viper would be involved with those encounters with HYDRA agents somehow, his bad luck just wouldn’t let it go the other way.

HYDRA bases were spread over countries around the world, but Clint assumed that Viper wasn’t out of the country just yet, and his guess was made certain when they caught her making her way to what seemed like a base in Kansas. 

So, they were speeding down the central part of America, and Clint ignored the joke about his natural habitat from Stark as they rode along the highways.

They stopped at a rest area in Warren, Ohio for the night, either sleeping on the ground or in the four by four. Clint was perched on the hood of the car, watching the pinpoints of lights in the sky and breathing in fresh air. Stark was up too, modifying the Iron Man suit, completely lost in his work. Clint leaned back onto the window of the vehicle, adjusting his bow that was on his back so that he could lie down comfortably.

The sky was pitch black, only the stars lit up the sky as the moon was new and dark. He watched the sky for a long time, but didn’t see much as his mind was somewhere else.

He was thinking over everything, thoughts flying through his head rapidly, and Clint struggled to keep up with them and answer every speculation.

Stark interrupted soon enough and joined the archer on the hood of the car and then cleared his throat.

“So… I don’t know how to start this one” the genius said softly, glancing at Clint, before his gaze returned to the stars.

“I killed my brother” the archer informed, the confession being the first thing that came to him “It wasn’t on purpose, but I did it… does that make me a bad person?”

It had been gnawing at him for hours, days even, since he had first heard Trickshot’s name once more. He couldn’t get that night out of his head, the sounds, sight… everything. So, Clint asked because if he didn’t he was going to explode.

“I… I don’t know… I mean, why did you kill him?” Stark asked slowly, clasping his hands together and resting them beneath his head. 

“I was working with my mentor, Trickshot; and we were going after this criminal… or benefactor, I don’t really remember that part. But, uh, I injured one of the body guards… bad, arrows to the chest and shoulder and… well… that was Barney” Clint sighed softly and closed his eyes, rubbing the heels of his palms into them and using his hands to cover his eyes further. 

He heard breathe in and exhale, then two gentle hands were prying his own from his face and he met the gaze of soft blue eyes “You didn’t know, and you were trying to do the right thing, no, you did the right thing… don’t worry about it” 

“Yeah… okay” Clint affirmed softly as Stark settled back onto the hood of the car “I think I like you Stark”

“I think I’ll take that as a compliment” the genius replied with a smile, closing his eyes and wriggling against the car for a moment, as if it were going to make the surface any softer. “I like you too”

Both men slept soundly that night, and were awoken by Steve at four in the morning. 

///

They arrived in Kansas City in the evening, and Stark was almost immediately requesting the location of the HYDRA base within the state. The team then made their way to a less populated area of the state and found the HYDRA base.

Clint and Natasha volunteered to infiltrate the base to make sure that Madame HYRDA was definitely inside, so that they weren’t wasting their time.

They moved like wraiths, footsteps barely a whisper against the cold, concrete ground, the two assassins fit to the shadows as though they were born of them and not a single agent was aware of their presence. Clint spotted Viper a second before Natasha did, and they shared a look from across the room. 

‘We can take her down now’ Natasha’s said, glancing from Clint to the HYDRA agents and their leader. 

Clint nodded slightly, as he had been thinking the same thing.

They moved forward carefully, remaining parallel to one another at all times. Clint snuck up behind one guard in his path and wrapped one hand over the man’s mouth, placing the agent in a chokehold with his free arm. The agent struggled for a long moment, and his soft murmurs might as well have been alarms to Clint’s well-trained ears. The agent slumped and the archer pulled the unconscious man back into the shadows, leaving him there and moving on.

Clint caught sight of Natasha, who was now much further ahead of him, snapping an agent’s neck and moving forward in the same fluid movement. She had always been the killer, the better assassin; with less mercy and cleaner kills she always got her target without any issues or injuries. Clint knew, somewhere beneath his stubborn pride that this was why he was never the one to go undercover or hired for extremely incognito missions: they didn’t suit his style.

…That’s what he told himself anyway. 

He and Natasha were at different distances from Viper now, the female assassin having found a way to get behind the villain. Clint drew in a breath and tool an arrow out from his quiver, drawing it back to full draw with his bow and aiming for Viper’s leg (mercy), planning on using a tripwire to entangle her long enough for Natasha to take her down (efficiency).

But, thing never really go to plan when it comes to super villains… or HYDRA agents.

Viper had known they were there the whole time, and had sent a vicious grin in Clint’s direction before turning and firing at Natasha, who dodged and found cover. 

Thankfully, Clint’s arrow plan worked and strong wire wrapped around the villain’s legs and she gave a cry of shock when she toppled to the ground.

He and Natasha sprung to action, pinning the villain’s arms with two hands. Clint took a moment to call in the rest of the team. 

“Nice work with the trip wire” Natasha praised softly, eyes watching the dozens of agents who were being thrown around (literally) by Steve and Thor while Stark made his way over to the pair of assassins.

“You can’t!” Viper exclaimed, struggling against her captors in vain. 

“Oh, but we already have” Stark responded, a sarcastic grin creeping onto his features “And quite quickly too”

Clint smirked and refrained from laughing, watching as several SHIELD agents entered the base, taking Viper away, but not before the archer had taken her teleportation ring, handing it to Natasha.

“Happy birthday” he stated as she took it from him, sending him a glare as he spoke.

“You don’t know when my birthday is” she accused, gripping the object in her hand tightly.

“Neither do you” Clint replied gently, grinning widely and feeling a touch of heat to his cheeks when Natasha’s glare softened and she smiled prettily. 

Sometimes, Clint wished he were in love with Natasha Romanov, and that she felt the same, but then- 

“Gosh you guys are so cute” – the amount of crap Stark would give him would be insurmountable. 

In the distance, Clint heard Bruce speak up “Trickshot”

///

They found Trickshot in DC, and Clint had made a deal with the Avengers, he could try to reason with his mentor, but if anything went wrong: No second chances.  
Clint agreed completely.

He would never be sure what villains saw in warehouses, but they all seemed to love them as hideouts. The building was silent and dark, the only sound being that of Clint’s footsteps, which were heard only by his keen ears. 

“Buck? It’s Clint” he called cautiously, eyes scanning the upper levels of the building for any movement “You don’t have to go through with this, we can probably help I mean… I don’t know…. Anyway…” he trailed off when he heard a sound of metal on concrete, and then rasp of an arrow being drawn across a bow in response.

On instinct, he dove, and an arrow, followed by a steel cable, fell where he had been a moment ago. Then two villains, Trickshot and Whiplash, dropped down and attacked again, forcing Clint to dodge first a whip, then a punch, then another whip before he rolled away from the two villains, narrowly missing another arrow, then he got his hands to the Avengers communicator. 

“Whiplash is here too” he stated calmly, before being hit in the side by a whip, then being forced to his knees by another.

_“What?”_ Steve asked, voice only wavering slightly.

“WHIPLASH IS HERE TOO!” he screeched, dodging an arrow aimed at his chest and receiving it to his shoulder instead.

A loud crash resounded through the warehouse and rubble fell as Stark broke through the roof, slamming Whiplash into the concrete, catching an arrow shot in his direction and dinting the solid surface beneath him from the sheer force of impact. 

_**“How many of you are there?!”**_ The genius exclaimed, taking a good look at the villain he had pinned. 

“Enough” She responded before making an attempt to break out of Stark’s grip: which failed. 

Clint had forgotten about the pair and was launching himself at Trickshot, colliding with him and rolling once before landing a hard punch to the red archer’s side before rolling them again so that Trickshot was pinning the hero to the ground, whipping his head to the side to avoid the punch that was almost given by the red archer and screaming loudly when Trickshot used his free hand to press the arrow in Clint’s shoulder deeper into the muscle. 

The rest of the Avengers rushed in and Natasha made a running leap at Trickshot, pulling the red archer to the ground hard and knocking the man out effectively. 

Clint gasped and fell back, clawing at the arrow in his shoulder because god did it sting. In seconds Steve was there and the super soldier held Clint down while Natasha pulled the arrow out with noticeable effort, the head being covered in thick red blood. 

He breathed in deeply through his nose, accepting the cloth giving to him and pressing it to his shoulder roughly before standing, then freezing when he got a good look at Trickshot…

It was Barney. 

His breath hitched and his throat felt tight, his legs became weak and he fell to his knees as SHIELD agents rushed in and took both Whiplash and Trickshot (Barney) away. 

Barney… Barney was alive… and evil… but he was alive. 

Stark came into view, kneeling down in front of Clint. He didn’t say a word, only pulled the archer close and held the younger man tightly. Clint wasn’t crying, but when he wrapped his hands around the genius’s midriff he noticed how much he was shaking. He sighed heavily and leant into Stark, hearing a soft sigh leave the genius as well, and rested his chin on cool metal; taking in the smell of dust, sweat and machinery.

It had happened too quickly, and Clint was still trying to make sense of the fact that his brother was alive (evil too). So he held firmly to Stark with his eyes shut tight, doing nothing but breathing and shaking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, for anyone who's read the Hawkeye comics you know by now that a lot of events aren't in canonical order, pleas try not to get frustrated because this becomes frequent throughout Part Two. 
> 
> Also, fight scenes and Clint trauma are two of my favourite things to write, but I do so in moderation: so don't worry about our archer... he'll be fine.


	14. Shock And Awe

“Are you alright?” Stark asked carefully, concerned gaze focused on Clint while the outside noise of SHIELD droned on. 

They were back on the helicarrier, being flown away from America on the hunt for Zemo or Amora, whichever came first. They were over the Caribbean Sea, the gentle blues and greens of the sea being visible from the wide, open windows.

Clint hadn’t said a word to anyone for days, had just shut himself in his room and hoped no one came in. Stark had been in once, and Clint had uttered the word “Afghanistan” to chase the genius off, but Stark had only flinched, turned to the door and whispered “Budapest” giving Clint a chill of his own, before leaving the archer alone.

The second was this time, Stark walking in, smiling widely, but falsely all the same, and then sitting down on the end of the archer’s bed, being only a few inches away from Clint before asking.

“Are you alright?”

Clint laughed, properly and loudly “No… I am so far from alright that alright is… I’m not okay”

The genius placed a firm hand on the archer’s shoulder “Do you want to talk about it?”

Clint took a breath and sighed, nodding slowly “I do… but I really don’t… do you get it?”

“Yeah” Stark said, pulling Clint to him tightly “I get it” his hands were warm this time as they rested on his shoulders, not cool and metal like the last. “I never want to talk about… well… but I’m dying to just tell someone” the genius explained.

“How come you just understand everything I say when no one else can?” Clint asked softly, burying his face in the crook of the genius’s neck, wrapping his arms around his waist firmly.

He didn’t know nor care why they were getting along like close friends, all Clint cared about was that he felt calmer… better, in Stark’s arms.

“I don’t know… I just I’ve been there before… life experience” the genius responded, a soft laugh leaving his lips, shifting slightly to get a better hold on the archer.

“Can you stay?” Clint asked, fear overtaking his tone, he really just needed someone to sit with who he trusted and wouldn’t ask questions and Clint realised then just how much he trusted Stark. He was open, told the genius almost as much as he told Natasha, and more at some points.

“’Course I can” Stark responded, a smile in his voice as he squeezed the archer’s shoulders gently “You’ll be alright”

///

Clint and Stark became closer after the one night spent together saying nothing. While the helicarrier moved around the world the two of them made mischief and entertained themselves in different ways, from training together to pulling off elaborate pranks to blowing stuff up in the labs the pair were inseparable, and trusted each other all the more. Natasha noticed, and was constantly smug about it, and he was sure that Agent Coulson had given Stark the “Clint Barton’s friend” talk.

He hated that.

He wanted to go home, to lie down and find some peace for once, he wanted to sit in a bathtub for hours and then eat chocolate curled up on a sofa watching The Usual Suspects until he fell asleep. 

But the mission came first.

He was watching Stark work, resting his head on the genius’s shoulder and watching words and documents update and appear on the laptop’s screen, he was watching without really seeing, only half aware of the light tapping noise of keys under Stark’s fingers. On the top corner of the screen there was a worldwide public events notifier for authorised persons, small report turning up on it every so often.

“Where’d you get authorization for that?” Clint asked quietly, hoping he wasn’t about to interrupt the genius in his work. 

“I didn’t” Stark responded, eyes never leaving the screen “Hacking is a beautiful thing”

He chuckled, snuggling closer to the genius and looking at the notifier when it chimed quietly.

It read _‘Unexplained gravity drops in Paris, France, scientists performing tests to judge risk: Local authorities notified’_

Stark’s eyes flicked up to the meter and he huffed quietly, hitting the communicator for the Avengers and speaking into it with a bored tone “Found one, they’re in Paris”

///

Clint had never been to France, and in that sense: Paris, and when the helicarrier came to a stop over the Eiffel Tower the first thing he did was look at the bright city from the bridge of the helicarrier. 

Stark was on the phone to a scientist, speaking in fluent, rapid French, before he hung up and turned to the other Avengers.

“The people working on the gravity drops have collected dozens of readings, but aren’t sure which out of three are most prominent… meaning we’ll have to either take a look at the sites and see what we can pick up with our own tech” The genius explained, fiddling with his phone boredly, not stopping to glance at the team once “Or, because I am a genius we just need a good base of operations and a few hours and I can tell you the co-ordinates of the exact spot on the ground where our villain is standing”

“So… we get a hotel room?” Clint asked eagerly, slipping his duffel bag’s straps on across his chest.

Stark grinned and looked up at Clint “Yes we do”

///

Clint made a small noise of protest when the book he had been reading was taken out of his grip by Stark. The genius only smiled, handed Clint a coffee and sat down, nudging a small plate of chocolate triangles his way before examining the book.

“Les Miserablès? That’s a little ironic isn’t it?” Stark asked playfully, trading the book for his own mug of coffee. 

“Shut up” Clint replied “Natasha made a joke and I want to understand it” he explained, taking a long drink from the mug in his hands before placing it on the storage ottoman at the foot of his bed.

“Hey Nat, I got an education and now understand that joke you made three weeks ago” Stark mocked, even putting on his best mid-western accent for it.

The archer shoved him roughly “Oh look at me I’m Tony stark and I think I’m hilarious” he teased in his best imitation of the genius yet. 

“Hey whoa” Stark protested softly as he steadied his mug of coffee and placed it on the nearby bedside table “You nearly split my coffee… And I do not sound like that” the genius chided, landing a solid punch to the archer’s shoulder.

“You kinda do” Clint replied, returning the older man’s attack with one of his own punches.

“Ow!” Stark exclaimed, rubbing his shoulder “No really that hurt!” he implored when the archer let out an uncharacteristic cackle. 

“You’re such a wuss Stark” Clint teased, shoving the older man roughly “Man up”

The genius fell back on the bed, fumbled for the plate nearby and took a chocolate “Hate you”

“Yeah I know” the archer responded, turning his attention to the plate of chocolates at his side and taking one. He glanced at Stark, whose eyes were closed and was seemingly asleep, before popping the small triangle into his mouth and chewing the food slowly “Holy mother of god they’re good” he said after he swallowed. 

Stark chuckled, opened one eye and grinned “Yeah, they are…” the genius said, rolling over onto his stomach and pressing his face into the bed “I’m tired” 

“That why you’re drinking coffee?” Clint responded smartly, smiling when Stark whined into the sheets loudly. 

Clint chuckled and lay down on the bed behind him, closing his eyes and sighing “We should take a vacation”

“Yes… yes lets, the tomfoolery we’d get up to would be incredible” The genius responded, voice muffled by the bed.

“Tomfoolery?” The archer asked, smiling when Stark chuckled and made a half-hearted attempt to hit Clint’s arm.

Stark propped himself up on his elbows and ran his hands through his already messy hair “Alright Tauriel, I’m going to take my mess and leave you with your book because I actually have to do some work and try not to kill Thor because that guy is loud” 

“Really? Another archer?” Clint asked accusingly, turning his head to watch as the genius stood and collected his mug of coffee and everything else he had brought in. 

“Only the good ones, not like I’m gonna start calling you Beau Duke or anything” Stark responded, walking over to Clint’s door and opening it, only stepping through half way and grinning widely. “Goodnight Clint” 

“Yeah, goodnight Robocop” Clint replied, grinning when Stark barked a laugh and closed the door behind him with a soft click. 

Clint’s grin faded to a soft smile and he crawled his way up the bed, flopping stomach first onto the bed, nuzzling the pillow closest to his head and closing his eyes, sighing deeply as he drifted off slowly.

///

_He was up again, watching the night sky of Paris from where he was lying on his bed, relaxed into the pillow, eyes lidded and hair messed into a state of array thanks to the pillow beneath his head._

_In all of his years in SHIELD Clint had never been to Paris, and now he was here he felt a sense of satisfaction that made him smile softly now that he had seen the notorious “city of love” first hand._

_He couldn’t sleep; nightmares were keeping him fearful of a basic function for survival, so he was jumpy, but still as operational as ever. Standing from the bed, Clint walked unsteadily over to the balcony that was outside of two glass doors in this room and leaned against the railing, breathing in the cool night air and closing his eyes._

_“You know, Paris is the city of love”_

_Clint jumped when Stark seemed to appear out of nowhere, hands buried deep in the pockets of one of his many expensive suits as he watched the skyline of the big, quiet city._

_“Please tell me you’re not about to use that on Natasha” Clint responded, repressing a tired groan._

_The genius chuckled, splitting his lips in a gentle grin; this was something that Clint saw Stark do a lot more often since they had become close: they gave each other real smiles, not the fake ones they set up for the real world “I’m not, I just can’t sleep and it seemed like a good way to start a conversation” Stark replied, joining Clint at the railing and pulling his hands from his pockets to lean them against the railing, running his hands through his hair and sighing softly._

_Clint nodded and glanced at the genius, taking in the dishevelled look that the older man was wearing, the dark circles under his eyes and the slump in his shoulders proved his statement to be true and Clint couldn’t help but yawn softly, pressing the back of one hand to his mouth to stifle it._

_The genius smiled softly and his gaze was soft as he directed it towards the archer “I’m about to something insane” Stark informed quietly “And I want you to stop me before I do… or else… well, I don’t know what the alternative is but… um, just… stop me” he almost commanded, deep blue eyes almost boring into Clint as the archer stared back in confusion._

_“What… What are you going to do?” Clint asked, his voice taking on a concerned tone._

_“This” Stark supplied before leaning in to press his lips to the archer’s in a sure kiss._

_Clint held himself stiff then, eyes wide and mind racing. Stark was kissing him… Stark… Tony was kissing him… Why? He was pressed into the corner of the balcony, still unsure if he should kiss back or punch the genius in the face, when gentle hands settled over his and squeezed softly; almost like reassurance._

_Finally, after what seemed like hours, Clint kissed back gently; bringing his hands up to cradle Stark’s face and also add pressure to the kiss._

_City of Love indeed…_

Clint woke up with the moon bathing his room in white light and he sat up, putting a hand to his forehead… What had just happened? 

///

The next morning was sort of difficult for the Avengers, as Tony… Stark… had found the exact location of their villain but the only problem was… they weren’t anywhere to be found. 

“Marco” Stark called out playfully after five hours of searching with nothing to show for it.

Surprisingly, Steve was the first to answer “Polo” 

Clint had an arrow drawn the second he heard the unfamiliar sound of footsteps he didn’t recognise, but when he sighted for a target, he found nothing.

“Easy Merida” Stark responded softly “I hear it too”

Clint huffed because he hadn’t expected Stark’s response to be quite so serious, but loosened the draw on his bow slightly and continuing to search the upper levels of the street they were currently in, the area had been vacated for them so there were no gaping onlookers or hard-core fans rushing out to distract them… at least not for a few miles. 

If something didn’t happen soon Clint swore he would start shooting at his teammates for fun. 

Turns out he didn’t have to.

Baron Zemo materialised behind Captain America and before Clint could call out the villain had their leader on the ground. 

The arrow Clint still had drawn flew from his bow but before it could reach its target Zemo disappeared again, the re-materialised in front of Clint, hoisting the archer up by the neck and into a choke hold. Clint clawed at the super villain’s hand roughly and his legs kicked out widely in hope of hitting something solid. 

He heard the sound of Mjolnir before the hammer hit and anticipated the drop from Zemo’s grip, but not his hands missing the grab for the roof of the building. Fear hit him as quickly as it left him because the second grab he made, one for an open window ledge, was a successful one and Clint hoisted himself up and into the building, listening as the fight continued on outside. He took a moment to breathe and then pulled three arrows, each a different trick, and drew them calmly, lining up Zemo where he was losing to Captain America and he released the arrows.

Three things happened as each arrow hit, the first sent an electric pulse into the villain’s system, the second disrupted any and all technology that Zemo possessed and the third set off a net that fell neatly over the villain who was currently on the ground. 

“I am so sick and tired of being beaten up by villains” Clint complained as he dropped down from the building he was on and joined Stark, who was leaning against a building wall. 

The genius chuckled and it sounded metallic through the suit “One more left Clint”

“You’re calling me that an awful lot lately” Clint responded softly, folding his arms and staring at the ground.

Ever since the balcony dream from the night before Clint had been walking on glass shards with the genius, unsure if the dream had anything to do with his current situation or if the lack of sleep was getting to him or… or…

Maybe he could define that feeling that kept coming up around Stark. 

The genius shrugged “I don’t know, calling you Barton is way too formal and we’re not formal anymore but… yeah I’m going to just shut up now” 

Clint could feel the awkwardness even through the metal suit that hid Stark’s emotions so well, and he just nodded slightly “It’s fine Stark, I gave you permission, remember?” 

“Oh, that was _so_ not permission, that was ‘I know of a good way to make this guy shut up’… which didn’t work, but it was a good effort” the genius quipped, knocking shoulders with the archer in a friendly manner. 

The archer chuckled and ducked his head, then moved over to help with carrying Zemo onto the helicarrier, which had just begun hovering above the street. 

///

Five villains were in custody, locked away in their respective prisons: Trickshot, Viper and Whiplash were back in the Vault, the Juggernaut was back with the X-Men and Zemo was locked away in the Raft. Amora, however, was nowhere to be found, Thor knew just as much as they did, and had returned to Asgard to search the other realms for the enchantress…

Clint was tired, he and the others had been working for almost two weeks and on none of those days did he get any sleep. He was so, so tired, and the dream about Stark didn’t help in anyway. Stark was currently in a long, private meeting with Fury, and Clint was with Natasha, the two of them pouring over HYDRA’s chain of command data.

While the two assassins had been with the Avengers, distracted by the dangerous super villains, HYDRA had strengthened its grip on their best agents and Clint and Natasha had nothing left but a few cold trails and their common knowledge. The pair worked in absolute silence, neither a word nor noise passing between them as they scanned the data for something, anything, which would lead them to a HYDRA agent.

Agent Coulson came in from time to time, handing the assassins refreshments and food on a regular basis. It was now when the agent walked in again, with coffee and strips of bacon, rich smelling and crispy. 

“When are you going to get some sleep Barton?” Agent Coulson asked, stooping down in order to kneel down next to the archer, a concerned look on his features. 

“Soon” Clint responded, only looking up from his work when the older agent stopped him with a hand to his wrist. 

“How about now?” Agent Coulson argued “I haven’t’ seen you leave this room for four days”

“I micro-nap” Clint reasoned, trying to tug his wrist out of the other agent’s grip but failing dismally. 

Natasha was wordlessly watching the confrontation, noting that there was only enough food for one person: meaning that Coulson meant business. 

“Barton” Agent Coulson said sternly “Get some sleep, or I’m dragging you, kicking and screaming, to a bed and locking you up until you do so” 

Clint sighed and rubbed his eyes, trying his best to ignore the stinging of his eyes and heaviness he felt when he closed them “Fine… I’ll try” 

The older agent smiled “Thankyou”

Clint stood slowly, a little shakily, and left the room, stifling the loud yawn that was about to leave his mouth and moving slowly down the long corridor. 

“You need to be watching him carefully Stark, he’s good at hiding his problems” Clint caught the sound of Director Fury’s voice through the slightly ajar door ahead of him and the archer changed from ambling to sneaking in a second, coming as close to the door as he dared in order to listen.

“Yeah, I know, what, you think I banter and drink and don’t pay attention? Barton’s good, but I’ve noticed the little things… he’s a strong guy, either he’ll deal or he’ll go to someone about it” The other voice was Stark’s; cool and reasoning, a slightly sharp tone to it which sounded defensive. 

“No, he won’t. He’s as stubborn as he is good at his job, he won’t tell anyone and the only way we ever figure it out is when he’s in hospital” Fury argued calmly, his voice was always at the same level, monotone, calm… it annoyed Clint a lot of the time, because his Director never seemed to show any emotion or conviction towards anything.

Stark sighed loudly, and Clint could picture him pinching the bridge of his nose “He doesn’t trust me…” here, Clint shuffled forward slightly “I mean, we get along but… we never talk personal…” another sigh “I know there’s something up but… Asking him might backtrack me another hundred steps and I really can’t lose him… not when I’ve finally gotten somewhere” 

“I understand that” Fury admitted “But we have to do something” 

“Yeah… I know… I’ll figure something out but… I don’t make any promises” Stark finally submitted, as Clint assumed that this argument had been going on for some time, and he valued Stark for holding his ground. Standing up shakily, Clint resumed his laborious walk down the hallway. 

It was true that he didn’t speak to the genius on a personal level, but Clint trusted Stark with so much more than he thought he could, but Stark seemed to think different. Clint almost wanted the genius to confront him to prove how much the archer trusted him. But, first he had to appease Agent Coulson, which meant sleep. 

His room was dark and quiet, and the now familiar feeling of tightness in his chest returned at the silence, the darkness, and flashes of the torture room in Greenland came back to him. Clint closed his eyes to try and remove them from his head, to calm down and cease the feeling of panic that was slowly seeping in. He slid down the closest wall and gripped his head in his hands tightly, holding onto fistfuls of blonde hair that was slowly growing out because he couldn’t even pick up his razor without being reminded of knives and electricity, how was he supposed to cut his hair with scissors when all he could think about was screaming?

He was going to explode; there would tiny bits of him all over his room, blood everywhere, his head hurt so much, the exhaustion and now the panic mixing together to create a cocktail of head pain and Clint did not like it, did not want the pain thank you sir. 

The soft knock at his door sounded like an explosion to Clint and he barely heard his soft call of “Come in”

It was Stark, it always was these days, and the genius was still close to the archer, even with the changes in their behaviour and the slowly decreasing events of name-calling. The genius had a concerned look on his face and he shuffled into the room, closed the door behind him and sat down in front of Clint, gently prying the blonde’s hands away from his hair and holding them tightly. 

Clint could hear his breathing, heavy and laboured like a steam engine, and Stark craned his neck in order to lock eyes with Clint and the genius smiled, the gesture only a little shaky.

“Calm down” he said softly, eyes darting across the archer’s face quickly, clearly in search of something “You’re not going to die”

Clint shuddered out a long breath and blinked several times “How did you-”

“You don’t suffer from PTSD without a few good panic attacks… been there” Stark answered, cutting Clint off and smiling widely, the gesture not quite reaching his eyes.

Clint grinned back and even though he was still shaking, he felt slightly calmer and leant forward, resting his head on Stark’s shoulder, sighing as thumbs ran over the back of his hands gently before the genius’s hands slid away in favour of wrapping them and his arms around the archer’s shoulders firmly. 

“You shouldn’t have to have been there” Clint said softly “I hate that you had to go through something like that… that you’re still going through something like that”

“It happens to the best of people… besides; I’m a better man for it…” Stark assured before chuckling softly, the sound humourless and hollow “Maybe that’s an exaggeration…” 

Clint snorted in response “Just a little, we probably could use some improvement…”

“Admitting you have faults? Where’s my camera when I need it?” Stark quipped smartly.

The archer just smiled softly and nodded against the genius’s shoulder to demonstrate that he had heard him, closing his eyes and relaxing in Stark’s hold. 

“You going to sleep?” Stark asked softly, rubbing small circles in Clint’s shoulders after roughly five minutes of silence. 

“Can’t sleep” Clint informed “Nightmares” he leant back and looked at the genius, whose own features looked just a little better than they had in France, and he smiled. 

He was smiling a lot lately, but some of them weren’t real, and he only did it because what else was he supposed to do? When he meant it though, he felt as though some form of weight was falling off of his shoulders. Like right now.

Stark nodded in understanding, locking eyes with the younger man and smiling properly, the gesture reaching his eyes and making them spark and Clint felt that feeling again, the one that was like a kick to his stomach, and then it hit him: The feeling was attraction.

Stark reached up with one of his hands and first touched, then slid his hand around the back of Clint’s neck, pulling the archer in gently and using his other hand to cradle the archer’s cheek. Clint’s heart was hammering against his chest, trying in vain to escape his ribcage but this time it was for an entirely different reason. This time, it was actually happening, Stark was a few millimetres away from him and if he leant in just a little… 

He couldn’t. 

Bringing his own hands up gently, Clint took Stark’s wrists into his hands and pulled them away from his face, leaning back and biting his lip, the awful feeling of guilt hitting him when he caught the look on the genius’s face… Stark thought he’d crossed a line. 

But it was far, far from that, Clint was a coward… he was scared of love, of compassion and the thought of a ‘stable relationship’ made him nervous. The amount of times he’d put his heart out on the line and he’d gotten hurt was crushing him, making him closed to any and all forms of love. 

He just couldn’t. 

“Clint I’m-” Stark began and Clint could see the genius’s self-confidence fading, so he stopped him.

“No” he protested, resting his hands on the older man’s shoulders “It’s bad timing I swear” 

Stark pursed his lips and nodded slowly, drawing himself back gently “Okay, so, I’m going to leave now…” he informed, only sounding a little awkward as he stood and opened the door before turning back and smiling at Clint “By the way; we’re going home”

Clint managed to return the smile and stand up, only to sigh loudly and throw himself on his bed when the door was finally closed and burying his face into the pillow. 

His life just got _so_ much harder.


	15. Duty Calls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's back to business for Clint and his slowly shrinking list of HYDRA agents, the Stark mansion has never felt so awkward for him and he's got a plan to change that.
> 
> Then SWORD calls, and everything gets strange again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a little early but happy Mother's Day! On the 11/5 we will be cooking breakfast in bed and doing all of the housework! Yay! 
> 
> Wow... that sarcasm actually hurt a little.
> 
> Enough of that, back to Three Strikes.

It was October, and being back in Malibu was the greatest feeling Clint had ever had, and he spent the first two days lying in bed because he had forgotten how amazing Stark’s beds were.

Stark was distant, he kept to himself and didn’t talk much, he seemed a little too focused on his work and his jokes lacked tact. 

Clint thought he might have broken him… which wasn’t as funny as it sounded. 

He felt guilty; it was eating him up because of what he had done, if he had just taken a risk for once then… well… he didn’t know what might have happened. It wasn’t something he was going to think through, and as much as he told himself that he needed to get over it, but it stayed in the back of mind, prodding him every so often… like the nightmares.

They were getting bad, but not unmanageable, Stark had set him up for cognitive therapy and it was working just fine, the exposure therapy though, was a little too much in Clint’s opinion. As much as he appreciated his therapist’s efforts, he found it hard to co-operate with everything else that was going on, and his life was a little messy at the moment. But, he was improving flashback wise, and he could cut his hair, so that was a good thing. 

He finally got the courage to talk to Stark after three weeks of being in Malibu, with therapy, finding HYDRA and relaxing being the only things on his to-do list, he felt it was about time he took on the issue instead of hiding behind excuses.

He liked Stark, he really did, the genius has wormed his way into Clint’s life and the archer owed him the right to explain himself so that they could find some form of common ground, because bad timing just didn’t cover it, it was almost as bad as Natasha’s ‘we’d be too unfocused’ excuse from two years ago when Clint had been stupid enough to try and woo her.

Stark was in one of his studies (Clint was 80% sure that Stark had six of them, all with different books in them) reading Pet Semetary, the book itself looked well-read but loved, the ears weren’t dog tagged but the pages themselves looked worn and thin as Stark turned through them. 

Clint really loved that Stark read, it was a wonderful thing that someone as busy and as logical as him could find solace and comfort in reading so much fiction that he was the Wikipedia of good novels. Sometimes, he would catch the genius sorting through his books, treating them as a mother would her child, before picking one out and setting off to reading it, usually finishing within a day or two. 

“Hi” Clint started, entering the room and sitting down in one of the beanbags in the room. This study was literally the most relaxing workspace Clint had ever seen, there were thousands of pillows, beanbags and blankets and the carpet was soft and downy to the touch. 

“Still using that as your pick up line huh?” Stark asked softly, a gentle smile touching his lips as he placed his book on the floor with great care.

Clint huffed and grinned “Guess so… I have something to explain to you” he continued, pulling his legs up close to him. 

“Okay… hit me” Stark replied, before his eyes widened in shock of what he just said “Don’t! Don’t actually hit me”

Clint chuckled and nodded “It’s about… well… I don’t know just, I need you to hear me out” he glanced at the genius, whose attention was focused on nothing else, and the older man nodded “Okay, so, I’ve never really been good with relationships… I get too close too quickly, and whenever that happens I end up getting used or they  
break my heart or… or even blackmail me and… I’m just so used to that happening that I… I just don’t think about people without that prejudice anymore…” Clint, glanced from Stark to the ground quickly, focusing his attention to his knees “I’m afraid of loving people because whenever I do they let me down… or they die”

Stark was silent for a long time, eyes staring at the floor and Clint would have sworn he could see the genius thinking. “First… no, um…” the genius bit his lower lip and gnawed at it for a moment before bringing one of his hands up to run it through his hair, which was getting messier and thicker by the week. His hand fell back into his lap and he sighed loudly “Um… I don’t know what to say…”

“That’s okay” Clint assured “I just, I felt like you had a right to know what was going on because ‘bad timing’ isn’t really good enough” 

Stark huffed loudly and smiled “Yeah… it was a little lacking huh?” 

Clint laughed “Am I an idiot? I feel like an idiot” 

“Nah… it’s okay to be scared, I am too” The genius responded, grinning widely “You cut your hair” he noted “It looks good” 

“Thanks” Clint responded, running a hand though his short, even cut hair “You should probably get yours cut… its getting a bit unruly” 

“Unruly, nice word” Stark praised, lying back on the pillows he was on “I should cut it though, you’re right” 

It felt oddly domestic, the way that they were talking, and Clint found that he preferred it to the clipped, snarky comments that always passed between their conversations. This was calmer, serene even, and Clint felt relaxed and at ease, and not awkward and uncomfortable like he thought he would be. 

“I started getting therapy” Stark murmured softly “I have like… six different mental health issues… psychiatrist got mad at me for not seeking help sooner… but he still reckons he can fix me up…”

“You’ll be fine” Clint assured softly, lying back on the bean bag “There’s hope for us yet Stark” 

“Tony” the genius replied immediately “Please… please call me Tony” 

“Okay… Tony” Clint responded, a small smile reaching his face.

///

It was a whole month before Clint even heard his phone ring, and during that month he and Stark had spent the time to actually get to know one another, to learn their likes and dislikes, and while they still didn’t talk about their past they knew a lot more about one another than they had before. Clint learnt how to fix an Iron Man suit and Tony learnt how to draw a bow and shoot an arrow. They still bantered and called one another names but now it was companionable, not a means to conversation but a habit that they had developed. They would read together, sometimes the same book, or they would watch their favourite movies and Tony learnt that Clint knew the entire script of the first Mission Impossible movie because it was his favourite movie **ever**. They’d spar together, and they’d work together, Tony even taking a hold of SHIELD’s data and running a world-wide search for the HYDRA agents Clint was looking for while the archer himself corrected and ran through one of the genius’s speeches. They had become friends so quickly, and Clint found himself enjoying it immensely because, and he’d thought this before, Tony Stark was so different from everyone else. 

Now that Clint had come to terms with the fact that he found Tony attractive he was finding it easier to do other things… like worry over the possibility of falling in love and being hurt again. 

He needed a serious distraction.

Thankfully, SWORD had something for him… not that he expected it to happen at all. 

His phone rang while he and Stark… Tony (he still did that sometimes) were watching The Mask and Clint answered it after digging around his pocket for what felt like hours. 

“Barton here” he answered, just a little light of voice from the struggle with his pocket.

_“Agent Brand from SWORD here, Agent Clint Barton?”_ An unknown female voice responded promptly.

Clint scoffed “Yeah, Fury recommended me to you?” 

_“That’s right, have you ever heard of the Flock?”_

“Should I have?” Clint asked, getting up and starting to pace slowly. 

_“No, that’s a good thing, we’re sending you on a rescue mission, we don’t know how, but someone corrupted one of our secret agents, Lockheed, and Director Fury recommended you as the best man for the job”_

Clint swelled a little at that: an actual undercover mission, where he’d have to be a sneaky super spy instead of a five star assassin and Fury had recommended him, not Natasha and it felt good.

“I’ll head to the Peak for a debrief tonight” he assured.

_“Tonight, today, right now, soon as you can Barton”_ Brand said before hanging up.

“Holy crap” Clint said softly, turning to Tony, who looked about to explode with anticipation “Fury’s put me on an undercover mission for SWORD”

“The Sentient World Observation and Response Department?” Tony asked eagerly, standing quickly and striding over to Clint.

“Yeah… how did you know that?” Clint asked curiously, watching as the genius pulled down a transparent screen from nowhere and brought up one hundred and one files on demand. 

“Uh… met an alien once” Tony responded awkwardly “Anyway, what are you doing for them?” 

“I uh, looking for an operative called Lockheed” Clint responded lamely, moving around the house to collect his things while Tony followed him, doing the same. 

“Oh you have to take me with you, no, scratch that I’m coming with you” Tony stated, rushing into his room and coming out two minutes later in a deep blue suit and car keys. 

Clint wanted so badly to argue but he just couldn’t find a reason to keep the genius from coming… besides, he could have a lot of fun. 

///

SWORD’s base was as big on the inside as it was on the outside, and for once, Tony had been welcomed onto a secret base instead of thrown out on his ass. Clint had had to take a long moment, staring out one of the large windows, to gather that he was in space… on an undercover mission to rescue an _alien_ , and that Tony Stark, the most logical man he knew, was friends with aliens.

He hadn’t expected so many things to be going on at once, but apparently alien terrorism was worse than Earth terrorism, because there were agents and aliens _everywhere_ and he felt like he was in the middle of the Enterprise with Captain Kirk instead of on a real life anti-extra-terrestrial terrorism base. Some people were rude; a few moments ago he’d nearly been run over by a man with fly-away hair and a big brown coat without so much as a ‘sorry’ and others were polite, pointing Clint and Tony in the right direction.

Brand actually greeted Tony with a tired smile and a one-armed embrace, clapping the genius on the shoulder roughly before turning to Clint with the same tired smile. 

“I never thought I’d say this but thank god you’re a SHIELD agent” She greeted him softly, shaking Clint’s hand in a firm grip before showing the archer over to one of the many transparent screens on the bridge that looked strangely similar to something of Tony’s. 

Well, Clint could see which secret organisation Tony favoured clearly, and he displayed this by raising a brow at the genius, who grinned then shrugged. 

“HYDRA has got a hold of a dozen of our files, and our agent is now being held somewhere on Earth, either being interrogated or experimented on….” Brand began, glaring at Tony when the genius took one of the screens and began fiddling with it. 

The genius responded by smiling at Brand and continuing with his work. Clint snorted; he had been right about Tony making his trip enjoyable. 

“So, if this is a search and rescue, how come you need me?” Clint asked, leaning against Stark, who was seated on one of the desks in the room. 

“Because we need someone who won’t break the doors down, yelling and screaming, and proceed to blow our cover to the United States and the rest of the world” Brand explained, folding her arms as she too leant against a desk. 

“To be fair, that only happened once, and it wasn’t even my plan” Another voice, a smarmy English accent.

“You seriously haven’t left yet?” Brand asked tiredly “Star Lord specifically said three weeks… which was up two days ago”

“Well, bring it up with him; I’m not the “all powerful team leader”” 

“Is that a…. talking racoon?” Clint whispered to Tony, leaning down to achieve it “Or is the pressure getting to me?”

“No, that’s a talking racoon” Tony answered, a gentle grin on his face “You’re not seeing things” 

While Clint had had his sanity diagnosed, Brand had gotten into a softly spoken argument. 

“I have an agent to assign a mission , can you let me do that before I kick your furry ass?” she hissed softly, turning away from the talking racoon (Clint was still sure he was 65% crazy) to face Clint “We lost our agent’s signal somewhere in Iceland, you could start from there and we’ll keep you in the know from here or you can wait until we catch wind of him here”

“I’m more of a ‘do it, and then ask questions’ agent, I’ll go to Iceland” Clint affirmed, smiling slightly as he patted Stark on the shoulder and the genius uttered a soft ‘be careful’ before the archer was out of hearing range. 

///

The first thing Clint thought about when he touched down in Iceland was that it was _freezing_. He had thought Greenland was bad, but this was cold air and biting winds and sea air and it was so cold. He was regretting his decision for a field operation already. Not that it mattered, he was down on the ground now, with Tony as the voice inside the small earpiece he was wearing for communication.

There were points where Clint tried and failed to speak Icelandic and failed dismally, scowling when the genius laughed at him softly before repeating the phrase until Clint managed to brutalise it well enough for the civilians to understand him. Most of them had seen something strange, and pointed him towards high mountains, big hills and cold air. 

After roughly three days of freezing himself half to death, Tony made a triumphant sound over the communicator _“HYDRA frequency, it’s about a mile north of your position”_

“Here’s hoping” Clint answered back, pulling the big coat wrapped around him tightly forward on his body and making his way north. 

He heard the base before he saw it, clearly Icelandic people didn’t find the appearance of a massive military base in the middle of nowhere strange or…

_“Cloaking device”_ Tony said softly, clearly following the same train of thought _“They must have installed it to hide from the Peak, it’s fritzing out the equipment”_

“Did you just make up a word?” Clint asked, smiling when the genius scoffed over the intercom, denied the archer’s claim, and then proceeded to tell him to get back to work. 

It was strangely ironic. 

Keeping low and moving quickly, Clint slipped past the agents guarding the perimeter and then climbed lightly onto the roof of one of the building, pulling a small disk from the pouch at his calf and pressing it down onto the building, waiting for it to beep before pulling his collapsible bow from the bag at his back along with an arrow, attaching a button sized, bleeping piece of metal to the arrow’s shaft and firing it off onto another building. He slid down the building he was on and slipped into a window, landing lightly on the concrete floor with grace and silence. Setting another arrow to his bow, Clint moved quietly through the building, making sure to keep both an ear and eye out for anything suspicious. Five knocked out HYDRA agents and a broken desk later, Clint had reached the lower floor of the building, still undetected and silent. He searched systematically, checking the walls and the floor for notches or catches in the surface, before giving a cry of success as his fingers caught on a small latch on the floor, and he pulled it up to reveal a deep flight of stairs, darkness yawning out from the open door. Taking a deep breath, pulling an arrow to half draw and tightening his grip on his bow, stepping down into the dark domain slowly, his boots scuffing slightly against the floor beneath him. His eyes adjusted to the dark slowly, and at first he fumbled around before he began to see the huge room. It was incredibly similar to something Clint had seen before, and in the corner was Lockheed, the agent he had been looking for, and he really _did_ look like a dragon, he had honestly thought that Brand had been joking. 

Lockheed sighed as Clint undid the shackles that were clapped over his wrists or ankles, and the archer pressed down on a small button to set off the signal that he had left on the roof for a drop zone and then stood slowly, dusting off his knees and looking around the room once more. His eyes widened when he caught sight of someone he never thought they’d find: Amora the Enchantress. 

She was chained up much like the way that Lockheed had been, hanging from her wrists with her head hung low, blonde locks fallen about her face. Clint turned to the alien behind him and Lockheed ducked his head for a moment, meeting Clint’s gaze with a look of knowing and the archer just nodded, turning to the enchantress and letting her down gently, catching her when she tried to stand and discovering that she was easily his height, heels or no heels. 

“Tony, you need to call the Avengers… you’ll never guess who I just found.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there was a special guest (that wasn't Rocket Racoon) in this chapter... If you didn't spot them: think the 10th Doctor and you should be okay.
> 
> I had a lot of fun writing this chapter; mostly because the Guardians of the Galaxy are awesome and I've always looked for a way to throw them into my fics but also because Clint's character development is getting better and better as I go. 
> 
> Fun Fact: Amora was never supposed to be found, but instead disappear. Fortunately, I don't like loose ends.


	16. The Slide Of Hand Effect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS MY BIRTHDAY CHAPTER!! Well... my pre-birthday chapter: my actual birthday is on the 17/5 but this still counts
> 
> Sorry, continue reading: you're all awesome!

The Avengers didn’t like villains, but they weren’t cruel, Amora was clearly injured and needed rest, so the Avengers gave her that. In isolation, much like the way they had imprisoned Loki, but she was still given the small kindness. 

SWORD had payed Clint really well, and the archer had put the money away, joking to Agent Coulson that he just might change jobs. But he’d never leave SHIELD, the organisation was everything to him, and some agents (Coulson) were willing to go out of their way to help Clint in any way possible and so he stayed; regardless of the bad pay. 

Once Amora was healed, or at least well rested, Thor was going to take her back. The demigod was jumpy and uneasy, constantly standing outside of the room Amora was in, arms folded and a pensive look on his features. It was making Clint just a little uneasy, and Tony had shared his discomfort when the archer had told him how he felt. 

Walking down the hallways of SHIELD, when there were only sparse amounts of agents flitting through the halls, Clint made his way towards where he knew Thor was standing watch, possibly in the same position as he was before. Clint had a mug of coffee in each hand and he was dressed down in jeans and a green plaid shirt, the warm flannel fitting snugly to his body. 

Thor himself was still dressed in Asgardian armour, red cape pooling near his feet and his weapon of choice, Mjolnir, resting by his right foot. Thor was, in Clint’s opinion, like the team’s ray of sunshine, he always seemed to have a considerably positive way of thinking, and his resilience was like a constant encouragement. 

“Hey Thor” Clint called out softly, holding the mug of coffee in his left hand up when the demigod looked up and his eyes brightened as he smiled at the archer. “I don’t know how you like it but… Tony reckons he does so now you know who to blame” 

Thor chuckled and accepted the mug with a soft ‘thank you’ that sounded like a melody to Clint’s ears. He’d always liked Thor’s voice, the deep resonance of it was pitched just right and the demigod always spoke well and often. 

Clint really liked Thor, the demigod’s company wasn’t one he found himself in often, but on their adventures Clint knew he could trust Thor; he was just the sort of person Clint found that he never befriended: the person that was good for him… 

It was achingly similar to the Stark issue and that situation was far to cliché for Clint’s tastes. 

He and Thor stood in silence for a moment, drinking their coffee and watching the door to Amora’s room without really seeing it. 

“So” Clint began, leaning back against the wall behind him “What are you thinking about?”

Thor chuckled, the gesture jolting his shoulders gently and his lips quirked into a grin “Home” 

“Asgard in general or just your house or palace or wherever you live?” Clint asked, crossing his arms across his chest. 

The demigod’s smile didn’t fade when Clint displayed obvious ignorance to the Asgardian world, the archer always felt grateful that Thor humoured him because the other man’s home world was so strange to Clint that he had trouble remembering a lot of the details that were explained to him. Unlike him, Tony always seemed to get it, absorbed all of the information about Asgard and Yggdrasill like it was water and he wouldn’t be drinking it for a hundred years. 

“Just Asgard” Thor answered softly, the answer short and clipped and definitely not like Thor. 

“Something distracting you? You’re usually so much more vocal.” Clint prodded gently. 

“Well… both Loki and Amora will be imprisoned soon… and I… I am tired of locking people away” the demigod answered, looking to Clint when the archer placed a hand on the taller man’s shoulder. 

“Me too” Clint said softly “I just… I want the world to sort itself out for once” he vented softly, sighing deeply because really, he didn’t want to have to figure out if he was in love with Tony or how to talk to his brother or why he couldn’t stop fawning over Natasha or… everything was just too much at the moment. 

“Anything worth doing is never easy” Thor counselled, patting the archer on the back gently “And any journey worth taking will usually end in the discovery of something incredible”

Clint nodded and smiled slightly “I’ll never understand where you get your optimism from”

“The very same place where you get your sarcasm” Thor countered, grinning brightly in his trademark way. 

They fell into silence for a short time, finishing their coffees and placing them on the floor by their feet. 

“So, how’s Jane?” Clint began again, once the silence had stretched into the stage of being uncomfortable or awkward. 

“I haven’t’ seen her in a while, and I doubt I’ll have the chance… so I don’t know” Thor answered “How is staying with Anthony?” 

“It’s um… it’s good I guess, he’s an interesting guy” Clint replied, smiling at the memory of his arrival at the genius’s mansion and how pissed he’d been at SHIELD… now, now that stupid mansion felt like home, and everything else that came with it too. “Definitely not what I expected” 

“He is most definitely a riddle of a man” Thor agreed, nodding gently.

“I missed talking to you” Clint admitted, grinning widely when the demigod beamed at him “We should talk more, maybe even hang out somewhere that isn’t the helicarrier”

“I would like that” Thor affirmed “Perhaps when this business with Amora is over and I can be certain that Asgard is well, I will come and visit you and Lady Jane” 

“Make sure you see Jane first, she’d kill me if she found out I saw you before she did” he joked, chuckling along with Thor, whose laugh was a deep rumble in his chest. 

Silence fell once more and this time Clint didn’t interrupt, just watched and listened as agents made their way around the halls, and machines and people made soft droning noises, the latter being that of talking in hushed tones and it reached one in the morning before Clint found himself yawning, eyes half way to closing and he admitted to himself that he was very tired and if he didn’t get some sleep then he’d be collapsing within the hour. 

He bade goodnight to Thor, collecting the mugs near their feet and headed to one of the many kitchens in the helicarrier, planning to just dump them there and leave but instead he ran into Stark inside the one he chose. 

The genius was pouring over two tablets and three stacks of paper, hands flicking through them at a rapid pace. His face was imbedded in concentration and there were dark bags beneath his eyes, which were half lidded as he worked, barely keeping them open as he read through them slower than his usual rate.

Clint smiled and placed the mugs of coffee into the sink and then stood behind Tony, pressing his hands to the genius’s shoulders and massaging the taut muscles firmly, listening to the loud, long sigh that left the older man and Clint just pressed down harder with his fingertips. 

“You’re not a machine: you need sleep” he chided softly, running his hands down the blades of Tony’s shoulders then bringing them back up to press firm circles into the fleshy part of the shoulders.

“Yeah, I know, I just… I needed the distraction” Tony answered, rubbing his eyes tiredly, slowly, as if by moving too quickly it would throw him off balance. 

“Come on” Clint ordered softly, squeezing the genius’s shoulders and standing back to allow the older man to stand and follow him out into the hallway.

They ambled along at a slow pace, chatting and laughing softly as they made their way to their rooms, at times their hands or shoulders would brush together and there was a comfortable feeling between them when they reached where they were staying: rooms across the hall from each other.

“I’ll see you in the morning” Clint farewelled quietly, turning away and moving to walk, stopping only when Tony’s hand caught his in a gentle grip.

“Thanks” the genius said simply, before licking his lips and continuing “For being around to make sure I’m not… to make sure I’m okay, thanks for not letting me destroy myself” 

And again, Tony had Clint at a loss for words, because while it was short, it was meaningful and heartfelt all at once and the genius had such a way with words that the archer felt inadequate just listening to the older man talk. 

“I… Of course I’d do that… I mean, you did it for me so… you deserve it too you know… you’re important you know, no matter what you might tell yourself” Clint ventured, squeezing the hand in his gently and smiling. 

He heard Tony’s breath catch and then the genius smiled, mainly with his eyes but it was there, and then Clint was pulled close in a tight embrace, warm arms wrapped around him tightly. They stayed like that for a long time, and Clint just breathed softly, listening as Tony did the same. 

“G’night Clint” Tony murmured, patting the taller man on the back gently “Sleep well”

“Thanks” Clint responded quietly, pulling back from the hug and entering his room, yawning and lying down on his bed, closing his eyes and sighing contentedly, falling into a deep sleep within minutes.

///

The next morning was warm, and Clint traded flannel for a light material that he didn’t know the name of for a shirt. He sat at one of the helicarrier kitchen tables with a small pile of pancakes which were slowly dissipating as he ate and read over his next mission.

Agent Coulson had uncovered an important HYDRA agent in America who was so thoroughly protected that his hideaway barely existed.

It sounded like a challenge. 

There was, however, one problem; this undercover agent was working for Kingpin, and which other highly trained marksman worked for Kingpin?

Bullseye, of course. 

If ever there was an assassin that Clint was to be scared of, it would be Bullseye. He’d heard all of the horror stories: that he could kill you with a toothpick thrown out a window a mile away, and that once he’d cut someone with a playing card straight through the neck… Clint wasn’t scared, and as far as Clint was concerned they were exaggerated tales told by amateurs during recovery. 

This wasn’t, however, his only issue. Because if he was tangling with Kingpin then he would be running into Daredevil on regular accounts. Daredevil and he got along to an extent, and that extent was that they stayed out of each other’s business, but trying to get that HYDRA agent would be a huge violation of their unspoken guidelines. 

But, it was a mission, and Clint had never turned down kicking around a HYDRA agent for cash… maybe Daredevil wouldn’t mind. Clint snorted out loud then: Of course he would mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My favourite Thor/Clint bromance scene I've ever written is in this chapter... thanks for the continued support!


	17. Ace In The Alley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint tracks down his HYDRA agent, he also discovers Bullseye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, guys, the chapter title is a baseball reference! I'm so proud of it, its okay if you don't get it, its all good. Just reminding you guys that you're awesome and that we're nearly at the end!
> 
> But the sequel is in progress, and the first chapter of that will be posted about two weeks/ one week after the final chapter of this story.
> 
> Now, on to Three Strikes.

Rain fell heavily against the rooftops of New York City, and Clint ran across them using both speed and caution as he leaped across roofs. Sometimes he would skid, but he regained his feet almost immediately; he and Tony were in New York City right now, Clint was tracking down the HYDRA agent and Tony was dealing with business in Stark Tower, the tower wasn’t as nice as the Malibu mansion, but it still had the ‘Stark touch’ to it that made Clint feel like home. 

He snorted aloud at that: Stark touch.

He was travelling by rooftop, as he hadn’t brought his bike and he didn’t really want to sit in traffic for six years so he had donned a long, waterproof coat and had thrown the hood over his cowl, stepping into the night and being assaulted by huge droplets of rain.

Leaping over another building, Clint skidded too far and toppled forward, catching himself on his gloved hands; face inches away from the concrete roof. He stood slowly as thunder rumbled above him in a dark and gloomy way, and Clint’s hood shielded his eyes perfectly to allow him to see the Fisk building across from him, a busy, overflowing highway in between him and his destination. 

He took a long breath and leapt down onto the fire escape below him, using it to move down to the building and then dropping from that to the ground, pulling the hood over his face lower down as he moved towards the road full of barely moving traffic. The road was shining white on black as water poured down in sheets on cars and the black surface. Clint moved onto the road, taking no heed of the various horns or abuse that was sent his way and weaved through the traffic, even vaulting over one car just to cause it hindrance. When he reached the other side, he walked down an expensive looking path leading to the door way of Fisk Tower.

Here was where his nerves heightened and his heart sped up slightly, it was the feeling he imagined animals got when stepping onto claimed territory. It was a feeling of dread and he immediately became watchful as he pulled the heavy coat closer around him, hoping to shield the purples and blues of his outfit, which he was wearing, save for the cowl… 

He began to wonder at his fashion choices and whether or not he should start considering black.

His weapons were well hidden beneath the coat, and while security was tight they only provided metal detectors, and his bow, arrows and quiver were made solely from carbon fibre with wooden skeletons so they had no chance of being detected. They weren’t his most ‘high tech’ weapons, but they got the job done and they did it just the same as one of his regular aluminium bows would.

As predicted, he got through security with a fake ID from Tony (he hadn’t had the courage to ask how the genius managed to obtain it) and his entrance went off without a hitch, the only metal thing going off on his person being his phone, which he happily left at the front because of “regulations”.

He didn’t know how many times Daredevil had managed to break in, but given the security, he had no doubt it was over something akin to twenty times. Not bad for a blind guy. 

His only task now was to find the uncover agent, kill him, and exit the building without Kingpin, Bullseye, or the security cameras finding out about it first. Sighing softly, Clint ducked his head and pushed the hood from his face, shaking his head to rid it of any rain and then moving to begin climbing the stairs. He moved slowly, making sure to check every floor before moving on because he had searched for **days** and had found no names or fake names for the HYDRA agent and while it frustrated him, he knew it meant they were good… really good.

Eventually, he grew tired of the slow, ineffective way he was searching and pulled out a photo of his mystery agent, asking around until he got an answer of ‘oh, you mean Bill Ward? He works up on the 45th floor” Clint had nearly scoffed loudly then and there, but saved the comment on his lips later for when he found the agent… 

He had hung around Tony Stark enough to know the time, date, year, guitar used, drum kit used, bass used and how many recordings there were of an individual song from Black Sabbath, ACDC, Guns n’ Roses and many others by heart, so, if he hadn’t recognised Bill Ward, Black Sabbath’s original drummer, Tony would have proceeded to shoot him, a dozen times, and then burn him.

The thought of the genius shooting him while singing “Iron Man” came to mind and Clint chuckled as he stepped into an elevator and hit the button for the 45th floor. He still disliked elevators, and his smile soon faded as it continued to stop at floors and then lurch off again. He felt a little sick when he stepped off at his floor, and it nearly came up when he saw Bullseye stalking the borders of the hall in what Clint assumed the villain thought was a casual manner. 

He took a long, steadying breath and hoped he had the agent’s face to memory, then stepped out of the elevator, and even managed a smile and wave at Bullseye before he darted into the cover of high set cubicle walls. He breathed out then and slumped against one, rubbing his eyes slowly with one hand before moving off calmly, at industry pace, checking each cubicle carefully. 

His hopes for wearing his costume were that if he were caught by either Bullseye or Kingpin (not Daredevil, that guy would kill him if he were dressed as a school girl if he found Hawkeye in Fisk Tower) that his trademark uniform might scare them a little, allowing him a small advantage. 

A hand gripped his shoulder and pulled him around along with the calm response of “A little lost huh?” and then he was face to face with Bullseye, who, in pulling Clint around, had allowed a flash of blue and purple to be visible for a count of two seconds. Again, he questioned his fashion choices. 

Both men stood in shock for a still moment, Bullseye’s hand still on Clint’s shoulder, before both snapped into action and the coat was thrown at Bullseye, who dove and fired off a shot from a concealed pistol. 

The bullet barely missed Hawkeye, who had dived for cover and pulled his bow out simultaneously; and with an arrow drawn tight he peered around the corner and shot blind, hearing only the sound of panicked employees in response. Bullseye had moved. 

Clint breathed for a moment, even taking the time to slip his cowl over his head before standing a little shakily. He believed that Bullseye had skill, and though he’d never fought him, he knew he was right to fear him. 

“Hawkeye huh?” Bullseye stated softly, voice carrying through the room with a deep, intimidating resonance “Haven’t seen you since you walked out on Mockingbird just before I turned up: good timing that”

Well, if Barbara Morse could fend off Bullseye then so could he.

Clint moved out and around the cubicles, checking his blind spots each time, an arrow drawn ready down by his hip. 

“Always wondered what fighting you would be like though, I mean, sure, Daredevil is great fun, and so is his “partner” Elektra. But the “World’s Greatest Marksman”? Well… naturally, I’m curious”” Bullseye continued, the same tone to his voice.

Clint strained his ears for sounds of footsteps, but he heard nothing. The archer kept moving though, determined to find the villain before the opposite happened. 

“There’s a lot of weight in that title isn’t there Hawkeye? Means you’ve gotta keep your game, always have your talents honed to the greatest abilities. But the way you blundered into that first shot well… How _honed_ are your _talents_?” 

There, footsteps, soft but audible; Clint smiled then and moved toward them, lifting his bow and turning the corner to where the footsteps where coming from. He let the arrow loose, and, shockingly, Bullseye caught it. 

His eyes widened, he could feel it, and his chest tightened, his heart rate skyrocketed and Bullseye grinned humourlessly “Clearly not honed enough” 

Clint felt immediately small, but his right hand still reached for his quiver, and Bullseye responded by _throwing_ Clint’s arrows at his right hand. 

It hit, as hard as one from his bow would have, and probably severed a dozen nerves as it pierced the skin there. He screamed, hoarse and loud as he pulled his hand in to his chest tightly and grit his teeth. Bullseye laughed softly, bringing out a black cloth which he used to clean the gun in his left hand. 

“This was disappointing Hawkeye, I really expected more fight from you, your reputation showed such _promise_. But you, like many others before you, ceased to live up to my expectations… disappointing indeed” It was like he was lecturing a child, a small boy or girl of five for knocking down a vase or bringing dirt into the house, not sentencing Clint to death. 

His hand throbbed in pain and a shot rang out, hitting Clint in the shins and bringing him to his knees as he tried to flee; he let out a strangle cry of pain and he knew, right then, he was going to die… this was it, in Fisk Tower of all places… he was going to _die_. His heart hammered on, a loud pulsing noise inside his head, his hand meeting it in a solid rhythm that was speedy and quick, almost disorientating, loud, Clint felt chocked and he couldn’t think straight and then...

Then the unexpected happened. 

A flash of red, a sound of a scuffle, several cries of pain and then the sound of running, shooting, shouting and eventually cursing reached Clint’s ears and eyes. Then he was left in silence with his hand and shin both throbbing gently.

Clint stood, despite the scream of protest from his shin, and laughed softly when he discovered he still hadn’t dropped his _bow_ (Of all things) during his near death experience. Again, he laughed: near death experience shouldn’t be in his vocabulary. 

He walked slowly, ignoring the slow flow of blood that was oozing from his leg, leaving a disjointed trail of red behind him. He had to find that agent and kill him now because he might still be in the building and if that was the case then he needed to find him now or lose him. 

His leg gave way and he reached for a wall but found none, almost hitting the ground before he was caught by a firm pair of hands and then he was lowered down gently, the same hands coming to cup the archers shoulders as his back hit another person’s chest. Clint took note that the hands were red and he groaned, knowing he’d been caught and then consequently knowing that he was in trouble. 

“We’ve talked about this” Daredevil murmured softly as he brushed his fingers along Clint’s shoulders. 

“There was a HYDRA agent and…” Clint started to explain, before he decided against it and just nodded softly “We’ve talked about this a lot… haven’t we?”

“Yes” The mercenary responded, a small smile catching his lips as he let the archer sit up and came around to his front “And every time I find you injured and bloody courtesy of one of my problems” 

Clint bowed his head then “I know, I just… wrong place wrong time?” he ventured, wincing slightly when Daredevil prodded gently at the wound on his leg. 

“That’s a one sentence summary of Hawkeye right there” the man without fear responded smugly, lips splitting into a wide grin “I think I might try pulling this bullet out” 

“Is that really a good idea? I mean” Clint stopped himself then , he had nearly said: _“You are blind”_

Daredevil’s smile softened “We’ve talked about that too” he chided gently as he pushed on the archer’s chest, and Clint lay down, getting the message. 

He closed his eyes too, and his good hand soon turned to a fist when pain spiked in his leg for a good minute and the archer refrained himself from cursing profanities or screaming until the pain stopped, then he let out a loud breath to display the pain.

He sat up again then, expecting to see the worst, but only caught sight of his wound before it was shielded by a pristine white bandage. 

“Now that arrow” Daredevil stated softly, and Clint noted the volume of the other man’s voice hadn’t changed throughout their conversation. 

“I can get it… I think” Hawkeye assured nervously, flexing his left hand before taking hold of the shaft of the arrow and then gnawing at his top lip, flexing his right hand experimentally and biting down hard when pain spiked through his hand again. “No… you do it” he said, holding out his hand to Daredevil as if it were a splinter instead of a deadly weapon in it. 

Murdock chuckled briefly before he sat down, cross-legged, and took the archer’s hand gingerly, ripping the arrow out before Clint could decide otherwise. His scream was sharp, punctuated by the silence and Daredevil was already bandaging the wound, a small smile still on his face. 

Clint was half smiling too “It’s been a while”

“That’s probably a good thing, considering today’s events” Murdock responded, hoisting the archer up and acting as a crutch for his bad leg “But yes, it has been a while… have you been keeping well?” 

“Sort of, I get injured all the time so that’s nothing new, I’m staying with Tony Stark while I take down HYDRA agents, I went to France too and Fury is being weirdly nice to me… also I met a talking raccoon” Clint answered, adding the last part on as though it really didn’t matter at all.

Daredevil snorted uncharacteristically then “Honestly I have given up on making sense of the world”

“When did that happen?”

“Oh, around the time when I met you and Deadpool” 

Both men chuckled softly as they entered the elevator, and Murdock did the honours of hitting the ground floor button. 

“So, how about you? What have you been up to?” Clint asked in return.

“Oh, this and that, the same old thing really, probably not as glamorous as being on the Avengers or meeting talking racoons but I’m keeping the peace around here” he responded with good humour, walking Clint out past the security gates, allowing the archer to reacquire his phone, and then stepping out of the building and into the rain. 

“Great” Clint said softly, sarcasm adding a biting tone to his voice. “I’m assuming you ran here?” 

“I run everywhere” The mercenary stated matter-of-factly 

“Well then I’m getting wet on the way home” the archer stated dismally, looking hopelessly at the rain that was still bucketing down on New York City. 

Both men looked to the driveway when an expensive, familiar looking car sliced up the road and parked neatly, a cold but smug looking Tony Stark stepping out of it and unfurling an umbrella as he made his way over to the pair. 

“Well then, looks like I’ve found myself a pair of costumed maniacs” The genius said when he was in earshot, looking to both of them with a good natured smile “Need a lift?” 

Murdock smiled “You never stop surprising me Mr Stark, how did you figure it out this time?” 

“This time? Well, it was all over the news… you two caused a lot of trouble and if you had parents then they would likely ground you for life” Tony answered, holding the umbrella over Clint and Daredevil, smiling when he caught the archer’s eye. “Guess I’ll just have to do it for you”

Clint laughed then, because Daredevil managed to shoot Tony a look that said ‘I’d like to see you try’ and the genius only responded by moving the umbrella so that the mercenary was soaked by the rain for a second before moving the cover back and then grinning smugly. 

He had really strange choice in fashion, but he had _especially_ strange choices in friends… and, of course, men.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: In the original story, Clint died at Bullseye's hand and I traumatised Tony... I think I like this one better.


	18. SHIELD's Most Wanted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is embarrassing... I miscounted my chapters... no big deal, nothing was lost... just the chapter. 
> 
> But... this chapter has so much YES in it... I love this chapter, I want to MARRY this chapter...
> 
> You'll figure out why I'm sure.
> 
> Thanks for the continued support!

The almost empty room was filled with loud thumps, slaps, shuffles and the gentle hum of guitars as Clint and Tony sparred on an early October morning. The room had a brisk chill to it and the thin sheen of sweat that was covering his arms. He and the genius had been practising combat for the last two weeks, starting in the morning and finishing around midday, when they’d cool down, hang around and then work on their separate projects in the late afternoon until the natural light faded, which was when they’d sit down and watch a movie or just go to bed. It was an incredibly ordered system.

Tony was getting better and better at responding to Clint’s attacks, and his resilience to hard hits was improving greatly.

But that didn’t change the amount of whining that the genius did. 

“It’s still too early” Tony had said softly, ducking one of Clint’s punches and returning it with one of his own. 

“And you still whine too much” Clint said, clipping the older man on the shoulder and smirking at the cry of pain that it elicited.

“Can you be, I don’t know, a little less rough?” The genius scolded, frowning slightly when Clint responded by tapping him on the shoulder. 

“Better?” The archer asked, grinning widely when Tony smiled softly and shook his head. 

“Don’t quit your day job buddy” he responded, smile widening as he lowered his raised fists and stood straight, reaching a hand to scratch at his temple.

Clint grinned even sider and he felt the strain on his cheeks and he shoved the genius roughly, succeeding in throwing the man off balance. A hand gripped his arm hard and Clint found himself on the ground too, sprawled next to Tony on the floor, loud laughter leaving him in large hitches of his breath. Tony was laughing too, but it was more a deep rumble in his chest than the hyena like noises that were leaving Clint’s lips. 

When they both quietened they lay together for a moment, silence enveloping them as they watched the roof above them without a word. 

Tony rolled over onto his side and propped himself up on his forearm “Hey, can I be honest with you?” 

Clint pillowed his head with his left arm and looked up at the genius with a lopsided smile “Go right ahead” 

“Oh boy… okay… I’m really not good at this… that’s the only warning you’re getting” The genius began, watching the archer with caution “This is going to make it awkward again… just so you know”

Clint sat up and knocked shoulders with the older man gently “You don’t have to say it, I can wait until it isn’t awkward”

“It’s never not going to be awkward Clint” Tony pressed, running his free hand, the one that wasn’t supporting his weight, through his hair. 

Clint sighed and closed his eyes, bowing his head and then he opened his eyes again, meeting Tony’s with a helpless gaze; but he couldn’t say a word, because he had no idea what to say. “I’m not… can we not talk about this now? I just… give me a while…. I want to get this right, okay?” 

Tony pursed his lips and then nodded “Okay… I’ll wait” 

///

Clint had found the HYDRA agent again, this time in Lincoln, Nebraska and it was caught between rain and heat in Malibu so Clint was glad to get away. His motorbike was recently maintained and polished and when Clint started the engine it purred delightfully, and he swung himself over and onto the bike, pulling his helmet over his head and rocketing out of Tony’s garage, speeding down the Malibu highway with barely any regard for speed laws or other vehicles.

The drive to Lincoln was rainy and uneventful, but by an hour Clint was soaked to the bone and his clothes were sticking to his body like layers of skin. His bike roared on and by the time he reached Lincoln it was like he was wearing tight leather as he could barely move in his jeans when he dismounted from his bike at a nice looking hotel and walked into reception, asking for a room for one and saying he’d pay by the day. He then trundled his bike over to the car parks where his room was, keyed in and closed the door behind him, then he collapsed on the bed in the room before jumping up and removing his clothes, hanging them up, and pulling another set of jeans and a flannel shirt from the duffel he’d brought along. Finally, warm, dry and tired, he did fall on the bed and then drifted off to the sound of heavy rain hitting the ground. 

///

The next morning was cold, about 10 degrees according to the weather forecaster on the second grade television in Clint’s room. He’d been delivered a small breakfast basket, with breads, cereals, jams, butter and other breakfast foods for the morning. Clint had spent the morning eating and watching the local morning news.  
It was eight in the morning when Clint left the hotel room dressed in denim blue jeans and a purple plaid flannel shirt with his bow and quiver strapped to his back (he felt a little like a game hunter as he walked through town) as rain trickled down in gentle droplets. A fine mist was hanging in the air and grey clouds blanketed the sky, making the morning seem darker than it most likely was. 

The HYDRA agent had retreated back to one of the many bases in America, and this one was in Lincoln. It was weird for a base to be right in a state capital of America, as usually they were either in small towns or so far away from civilisation they might as well have been invisible. This particular HYDRA base was the one exception for the ‘hide away and be invisible’ rule, as it was right in the middle of a thriving community. 

Now Clint was afraid he might get a civilian caught in the crossfire, or even the entire city. It wasn’t as easy to focus as it would have been if it were Lawrence Kansas or one of the big forests in California but here, in Lincoln? 

Far too many potential casualties. 

It made Clint nervous. 

Just like big international cities and large airports and anywhere full of people, innocent people, who could get hurt. Clint didn’t like it, would never like it, but what it did do was heighten his awareness, made him careful, subtle. He was quieter in big cities.

He arrived out the front of the HYDRA base and considered knocking, the thought bringing a smile to his face and then he circle around the building, scaled the wall and sat on the roof for a moment, kicking his legs out wildly, and waving at a small boy who noticed him and pointed, tugging on his mother’s hand with a delighted smile on his face. His mother looked to where her son was pointing and the raise of her eyebrows displayed shock before she continued to walk, pulling her son along. 

The rain was still falling, and Clint’s bow rested snugly against his chest in a metal embrace. He was still using the Experience Tony had gotten him, and he’d treated it with the greatest care so far, making sure not to roll or dive on it and polishing it clean every day, performing the maintenance with the same care he provided his other bows. 

Shaking himself out of his internal monologue, Clint lifted the latch on the window beneath him and swung himself in, almost slipping on the metal surface beneath him. He held out his arms to steady himself, and then took up his bow and walked down the metal catwalk, spotting the agent he was after and then moving to climb over the railing, stopping only when he noticed “HYDRA’s supreme leader”: Baron Von Strucker. 

Clint swore softly and then vaulted the guard rail and landed silently, taking cover behind a large crate, nocking and drawing an arrow, and then peered around the wooden shape. Strucker was busy barking orders at his agents and the volume of his voice was enough to mask the sound of Clint’s footsteps as he moved through the base, making his way over to his target. When he was around ten metres away, he drew the arrow on his bow back tight, taking a long, low breath before letting the arrow fly, the projectile hitting the agent in the back of the neck, killing him instantly. 

The agent fell to the ground with a sot thud and Clint smiled with dark humour as he backed away when several agents went to assist their fallen comrade. He ran into a solid force and his smile faded as he stood straight, cringing when the solid force behind him spoke.

“A little lost are we?”

He should have worn the costume. 

Now he was _screwed._

He was shoved forward roughly, but before he fell to the ground he was caught by the back of his shirt and manhandled into an upright position. He snarled when the agent tried to pull him along and he aimed a perfect punch to the man’s jaw, feeling the sickening crunch of it breaking against his fist. 

That brought the rest of the agents, and Clint stood in the centre of a circle of HYDRA agents, and didn’t waste any time in putting two on the ground by kicking one leg out, then leaping up and landing a hard punch to another’s chin. He staggered when one of his punches were blocked and he narrowly avoided a punch to his stomach with a speedy step back. It was a flurry of fists, feet and legs and Clint got lost in the fighting. He still wasn’t sure if he was winning or losing, the circle didn’t seem to stop growing, and some of the agents were landing hard hits to Clint’s vitals. He gasped and faltered when one agent kicked him in the stomach, then another stopped him from getting to his feet with a powerful kick to his left calf muscle. Clint only grunted in pain and stood, clutching his lower leg for a moment before launching another chain of successful attack.

He was almost finished with putting another six agents to the ground when he was gripped tightly by the back of his neck. The hand there was cold and solid, the owner easily lifting Clint off of his feet and throwing him into one of the crates in the room, making a large dint in the wood.

Whatever had been in the crate bruised his hip, elbow and right shoulder as Clint rolled away from the crate to try and avoid any kicks to his exposed side. He stood shakily, feeling his legs rattle minutely as he stood straight and faced the man, Strucker, who had thrown him; positioning himself in a defensive stance in stubborn defiance of what was probably his next near death experience; or the other alternative which he as trying not to think about. 

“I admire your perseverance” Strucker stated like it was a compliment “However, I am questioning your intelligence: walking into a HYDRA base with nothing but a bow and arrows is a little… arrogant... perhaps even stupid”

Clint sneered, knowing there was probably blood on his teeth “You going to talk, or are you going to fight? I’ve managed to take out a fair share of your men already”  
Strucker chuckled and shook his head with a ironic smile “You should have run”

Clint shrugged and unsheathed the hunting knife strapped to his calf, turning the weapon over in his hand once, crouching low “Probably”

He swung the blade in Strucker’s direction, but the HYDRA leader dodged it and swung his metal fist at Clint and the archer dove to avoid it, driving his knife into a nearby agent’s leg, punching them in the jaw as they fell to his knees. He was not looking for a glorious battle: he was looking for an escape.

The rest of the HYDRA agents got involved then, and Clint finally felt fear screaming loudly above the adrenaline: it was screaming _RUN_

So Clint did.

He dodged his way around agents desperately, taking some down and earning a few more bruises on the way. He was quick, agile, and capable… just not enough to avoid a few broken ribs from Strucker’s metal fist.

He fell then, unable to catch himself on already weak arms and he gasped loudly for air, chest heaving and aching with each breath, he had managed to escape the building; and so he fell into a large space of mud, rain shattering hard against his body. He tried to stand, arms shaking with exertion, panting hard and fast. Clint knew he was hurt, badly, and that adrenaline was the only thing holding the pain back, but he wasn’t about to lie down and die either. 

He had almost pushed himself up onto his knees when a foot to his back shoved him back down into the mud, hitting one of the bruises on his back, and Clint cried out in both pain and failure.

“I should kill you now” Strucker said softly, and Clint silenced his cry in order to hear him “It would be smart, but… you interest me… and I’d like you to see what you can do”

Clint sighed shakily in relief, he had killed his target and he was getting out alive, this was a good thing in a long, long list of bad things.

The pressure at his back increased for a moment, then stopped and the sound of retreating footsteps started “So show me”

///

Clint dragged his motorbike into the garage, fighting the vehicle to try and move it to an open space in Tony’s garage, then forcing down the kickstand and trying to ignore the battered body of the bike and shakily pulling off the helmet on his head, placing it and his leather jacket on one of the nearby benches and stretching out his back slowly.

The return to Malibu had involved roughly two hours of dragging his ruined bike (courtesy of HYDRA) down the side of the highway, wrestling with his prized possession, bent and battered, as cars rolled past without worry or care of his struggles. After the second hour, a pickup truck rolled to the side of the road and stopped, an elderly man stepping out and waving at Clint, offering him a ride home. Clint had taken it gratefully and discovered that the man’s name was Stan, and that he wrote graphic novels and when he told Stan about what he did, the older man got incredibly excited, talking about how he was going to make Clint famous and how everyone would know who he was. When they had parted ways Stan had still been ranting about Clint’s future fame, and Clint had walked away with his bike chuckling to himself, in a much better mood than he had been in earlier today. 

Clint shook himself out of his introversion and trudged up the stairs outside of the workshop to get to the first floor of Tony’s mansion. It hadn’t changed since he’d been gone, and if he didn’t focus on the pains in his legs at their obvious outrage of being used for so long, he noticed the little details that made the mansion feel somewhat like home. 

“There’s the agent of the hour!” Tony greeted as Clint trudged into the room, covered in mud, blood and grime, and dropped the duffle bag at his shoulders onto the clean surface of the genius’s floor. He was leaning against his piano, an empty glass of scotch resting on top of it on a coaster to protect the surface of the expensive instrument. 

Clint half smiled and lifted a hand up in greeting and continued to drag himself towards his room.

“Nothing?! Not even a hello? Well, I guess that makes sense, given the amount of dirt on you” the genius continued, tone changing from insulted to amused, as he followed the archer a few steps behind. 

“Not right now Tony” Clint responded softly, wincing a little at the sharp pain in his chest. His eyes were heavy, the lids trying to force their way down: he could sleep here, the floor was just as good as a bed, collapsing wouldn’t hurt that badly.

Tony scoffed in response “Poor baby bird. You get your wings dirty?” he said with a scathing tone that had a hint of worry in his voice that the genius was clearly trying to hide.

“You never change do you?” Clint asked only a little impatiently as he turned around, smiling when the genius almost ran into him, stopping a few inches away from him.

“I try not to: it confuses people” Tony responded, shoving his hands in his pockets and smiling back at the archer.

Clint grinned, and then he couldn’t help himself: he leant in and kissed Tony.

He thought he had probably shocked the genius as much as he had shocked himself, because they were both still for a long moment that felt like an eternity, and he was brought back to his weird Paris dream, where their roles had been reversed and he suddenly grew very scared. But his fear was short lived, because Tony gently kissed back after a moment. 

The first thing that Clint took note of was the way that Tony’s beard scratched against his skin, and how it tickled just under his nose in a way that was not unpleasant. Kissing Tony was different from kissing a woman, there was a lot more dominance there and he had to battle more than control, but warmth still spread through his body and his skin tingled slightly. He could hear all of the minute noises inside the house and what felt like hours turned to minutes as Clint pulled away, halted only by a gentle hand at the back of his neck, which was used to pull Clint back so that his and Tony’s forehead touched gently.

Clint kept his eyes slammed shut and listened to the sound of them breathing; he gently pulled up his arms and rested his hands at the genius’s sides, stroking the clothed skin there with his fingers. When he felt Tony’s nose brush against his as the genius titled his head up Clint opened his eyes a fraction and found himself catching Tony doing the same. They were both still again; the air seemingly heavy as Clint breathed in and steeled himself to kiss the genius again.

Clint jumped violently when his phone rang, announcing its presence and breaking the electric feeling between him and Tony that had filled the room in a second.

He growled softly and pulled the offending device from his pocket, looking to the genius in front of him apologetically.

“Take it” Tony assured, smiling even though the frustration he was feeling was evident “I could be important… besides, we’ll have plenty of time to talk about this later” The genius continued, gently squeezing Clint’s shoulder and smiling “I promise” he enforced as he walked back the way he had come.

Clint breathed deeply, noting that he could still smell Tony’s cologne and taste the scotch that had been on his lips; he took a long moment as the phone still rang to compose himself before picking it up.

“Barton here” his voice still sounded light and airy and he grimaced at it as he waited for a response.

_“It’s Coulson”_ Agent Coulson was on the other end, his voice slightly drowned out by the sounds of gunfire, explosions, shouts and screams _“You need to get to the helicarrier”_ “Off the coast of New York City, close to the shipping docks” Coulson answered.

Clint froze halfway between putting his bow and three quivers into the trunk of one of the sexiest cars he’d ever seen “Off the coast… as in… in the water?”

_“Yes Clint, the helicarrier is under attack, SHIELD is under attack: It’s Strucker, we’re shot out of the air he’s-”_

The call cut out just as Clint ripped out onto the Malibu highway and the archer cursed, tightening his grip on the wheel and pushing the car to greater speeds.

Strucker’s words to him now made so much more sense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HINT HINT: Stan Lee gets a cameo!
> 
> Also: Ironhawk has officially left the docks!


	19. Hey Ho Let's Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hehe, the title is a Ramones song.
> 
> We're so close! Thanks for the continued support!
> 
> Kudos to you!

A black Maclaren screaming into a car park broke the near silence of the shipping/fishing docks in New York City. Four fishermen watching as a man dressed in faded jeans and a dirty plaid shirt get out of the expensive car and pull out several items from its trunk with a phone pressed to his ear.

Clint growled low in his throat and shoved his phone back in his pocket. He’d been trying to get a hold of any SHIELD agent he could since Malibu and hadn’t slept at all. He was running on adrenaline now. He strode purposely towards four fishermen and took a long breath in and stopped walking when he saw the SHIELD helicarrier in the distance. 

It was ruined, two of the engines were smoking and there were fires along the top, sides and bottom where there were large gaping holes in the framework and walls. 

Clint reached the fishermen when once he had stopped staring at the helicarrier gaping like a fish and collected himself before speaking “I need a boat” it came out gruffer than he had meant it to sound and he tried not to wince.

“Who’s askin’?” One said, folding his arms over his chest and leaning back against a post. 

Clint ducked his head and breathed in to calm his rising anger and impatience “Hawkeye of the Avengers” he hoped it would mean something, shock them into action or pull them out of their self-importance.

“Never heard of you” Another said sceptically.

“And if you’re an Avenger, where are the rest of you?” The first added. 

Clint growled softly, refraining from punching anyone, including himself. “I’m normally dressed in purple, I shoot things?” he offered, holding up the bow in his hand and waving it.

All four men remained expressionless and the sound of a small boat engine filled the blank silence in and Clint turned to the sound. 

It was a standard SHIELD speed boat, and Clint almost yelled in triumph when he saw Natasha on the deck with another agent, Quartermaine, at the helm.  
“Clint, get in” Natasha greeted and then ordered, smiling grimly at him as he climbed on, almost losing his balance as the boat rocked.

“Hey look it’s the Black Widow!!” One of the fishermen called out excitedly, tapping one of his comrades on the shoulder.

“Seriously?!” Clint called back, insult commanding his tone as the boat pulled away from the port.

Clint sat down, still frustrated at not being recognised, and turned to Natasha “What’s the plan?” it was silent for a moment, and when he got no answers he continued “How about Cap?”

“He’s on a mission of his own” Natasha answered quietly. 

“The Hulk?” He ventured “A bomb, **something?!** ” 

“SWORD’s sending in ground support” Quartermaine offered “It’s not looking good for us though, HYDRA is getting in everywhere… a lot of people are already dead”  
Clint nodded and he and the other two agents fell silent, moving only to prepare their weapons. Clint had two arrows already pulled back halfway and he thought back to his first mission with Tony, who had playfully chided him about ‘going in half- _nocked_ ’ and it brought a smile to his face. 

It quickly faded when the boat pulled up to one of the gaping wounds in the helicarrier and Clint stepped off first, firing the two arrows on his bow at a dead-locked door, caving it in, then firing another at a higher explosive strength and blowing it open. Six HYDRA agents noticed their presence immediately but Natasha had them all knocked out in seconds. 

Clint took charge immediately, signalling to Quartermaine to flank them and look for stragglers or people who could still fight and then he and Natasha kept moving to the bridge of the helicarrier, sticking close and taking out agents quickly and efficiently. Clint was feeling optimistic, even though his already damaged body was singing out its protests with every attack he made he felt that they had the situation under control. That was until he and Natasha made it to the bridge. 

There were agents from both organisations everywhere. Everyone was fighting someone and the bridge was destroyed, the computers were workers usually were stationed were on fire or smashed to pieces, there was blood everywhere, and weapons stuck in walls and on the floor and by the time Clint had taken all this in Natasha had killed five agents.

He took to action immediately, using his bow and his fists in combination, making his way through agents either quickly or slowly depending on how they fought. He and Natasha powered through the HYDRA agents easily, making the SHIELD agents around them look like novices as they finished agents faster than they themselves could track. 

Clint was only halted when a powerful hand grabbed him by his left arm and threw him to the ground. He gasped, and then coughed violently when his ribs scratched hard and caused pain to spike up high in his body. It was obvious who had thrown him, and Clint didn’t even bother with saying the HYDRA leader’s name.

He tried to stand, but found that his already ruined body denied it wholly, finally deciding that it was about time he gave up. Above the pain he was already feeling, another wave came when he heard a loud snap and his leg joined the chorus of pain in body. 

“Disappointing” He only just caught it over his own screams, but it was there: Strucker was talking “I expected more”

He tried once again to stand, to kill the leader of the organisation he truly hated and be done with it, but found he couldn’t, that there was blooming warmth in his chest: he’d been shot. His vision; which had already been hazy, was now void, and he heard nothing but a sound like rushing wind and then knew no more.

///

He drifted in and out of consciousness, barely aware of what was going on aside from muffled voices or passing shadows. Sometimes he’d be able to make out a word or two, but beyond that he had no idea what was going on. He woke up properly for the first time on November 14th, and had immediately demanded to know what was wrong and how much damage he’d taken and ‘what year is it?!’ but the doctors had barely gotten past ‘broken leg, seven broken ribs, two fractured ribs’ before Clint had fallen back into unconsciousness. 

The second time he woke up it was his birthday: November 29th, and Natasha was sitting by his bedside, they had talked softly for around an hour and she had mentioned a ‘Winter Soldier’ and Captain America but Clint was still too blurry to respond properly thanks to what was probably industrial pain-killers like the Novril - was it Novril? - stuff from Stephen King’s ‘Misery’. He had probably frustrated the female assassin with his incompetence but if he had she didn’t show it, squeezing his hand gently before she left and telling him to “Get better soon”.

The third time he woke up Steve Rogers was by his bedside, looking forlorn and battered with his head low. 

“Steve?” He asked, he barely got the soldier’s name out, and his voice was gravelly and weak. 

Steve must have heard it though, because he looked up and smiled weakly “Hey there soldier” 

Clint chuckled weakly “Didn’t think I’d see you again until another Avenger’s mission… how are you doing?”

“I’m holding up okay, I just had a run in with an old friend… its hit me hard but… How about you?” the soldier answered.

“The doctors refuse to tell me all of it… they must be afraid I’ll run off like that one time when I had a small fracture in my leg… but I feel… I think I’m okay, it all hurts but it’s everywhere so it doesn’t feel that bad… Old friend? Does it have something to do with the Winter Soldier?” When Clint saw Steve’s eyes widen in shock he continued “Nat told me something about it last time I was conscious: she was worried about you… it feels like whenever I’m bed ridden I’m suddenly her councillor”

Steve chuckled in response “You’re right: It was the Winter Soldier, before I was frozen he was my best friend… now he doesn’t even remember me”

“That’s rough Cap… I’m sorry” Clint said empathetically, trying to reach out to pat him on the shoulder but failing dismally. 

“It’s okay, as I said I’m dealing” Steve reassured him, patting the archer’s shoulder gently. 

“Cool… what day is it?” Clint asked softly.

“Friday: December 10th”

“I’ve been asleep for nearly a month?”

“Yeah, sort of”

Clint whined, pressing his head into the pillow behind him and Steve laughed as he stood and stretched “Get better Clint”

///

After the visit from Steve Clint managed to stay awake during the day and sleep at night, he learnt about how he was recovering and was allowed to hobble around the helicarrier with crutched bandaged up like something from The Mummy. He was mostly healed, his leg would be moved out of a cast on the 22nd of December and his bandages would come off on the 23rd and then it was just a few days (months, they couldn’t hide anything from him) of testing before he would be released and could get out of the medical bay.

On Christmas day Clint was being held hostage because he had tried to draw and shoot an arrow and had damaged the healing muscle there. They were obviously frustrated at him, but what had they expected? That he would sit around placated until they gave him the all clear?

The biggest surprise of the day was when Tony Stark walked into his room with a small red and white box, in a suit with the same colours on it, the genius had grinned, eyes lighting up brightly and had sat down on Clint’s bed. 

“Where are you off to all dressed up?” Was Clint’s first question, a smile spreading onto his features and plastering itself there. 

He had missed Tony, the genius had been a constant in his life for nearly two years and now the absence of him was like a missing arm; he felt it there, he wanted it to be there, but it wasn’t. 

“The correct question is; where _have_ I been all dressed up? And the answer to that is a children’s charity ball; but while everyone else was mingling and bragging about how rich they were, I hung out with the kids and they taught me to make this present box things” The genius answered lengthily, beaming at the archer “It was great”

Clint grinned in response “Merry Christmas”

“Oh yeah, Merry Christmas” The genius replied, grin getting wider “I might have forgotten it was Christmas”

“I don’t even understand how you function sometimes Tony” Clint admitted, laughing softly. 

Tony smiled and handed Clint the box in his hand “I made it with love… actually its paper but you get the drift of what I’m saying” 

Clint barked a laugh and opened the box, inside was two things, one was a small broach with a hawk on it, and the other was a slip of paper which read _‘If you feel like getting out of here, I have dinner reservations in a nice restaurant in California and my jet’s waiting out on the tarmac’_

Clint grinned wider then; sure he looked incredibly ridiculous the way he was smiling, and then got out of his bed, grabbed one of the three suits Tony had brought him over the two years “Give me a minute, and then we’re breaking out of here” 

Tony smiled warmly “I had no doubt in my mind of otherwise”

///

Tony had gotten changed on the fly over to Malibu, and their dinner had been quiet, even when across the restaurant there were about ten reporters swarming some unlucky celebrities. He and Tony had thankfully gone unnoticed during their meal and had managed to have a conversation and caught up the on the things that mattered and the things that didn’t. 

They were now walking on the beach, the moon up high in the sky, they had taken their shoes off, Tony was closer to the water and the tide lapped at his bare feet gently. They had joint hands when they had reached the beach, intertwined their fingers and had started walking, talking softly and ignoring anyone else who happened to walk by. 

“I missed you” Tony confessed “It got really quiet at home, I think I might have called Pepper one hundred times”

“She must be annoyed” Clint noted softly, swinging their joint hands back and forth gently “This is so domestic” 

“I know, it’s sickening isn’t it?” The genius responded truthfully “I’d hate to think we already know everything about each other” 

“I don’t think that’s true” Clint pointed out “There’s a hell of a lot we don’t talk about”

“Very true” Tony agreed “I’d like to talk about it, you know, with you… that came out weird didn’t it?”

“I got it” Clint assured, smiling softly “I’d like that too” 

Tony laughed softly “I can’t believe this is so easy, I thought that admitting your feelings was supposed to be different from this…”

“I guess it is with the wrong people” Clint said, ducking his head to hide the blush that was creeping onto his features.

“So, you think I’m the right person?” The genius asked hopefully, trying to catch the archer’s gaze. 

“Yes… I do” Clint answered quietly. 

Tony hummed thoughtfully “Me too”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: The pun "going in half-nocked is my favourite pun ever, and I use it in the real world as much as I do with Iron Hawk fanfiction: which is as much as possible.


	20. The Home Stretch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it guys: on more chapter from here and it's over....
> 
> The good news is: the sequel's coming!

Clint returned to Tony’s mansion and found it in silence. Recently, the genius had been caught up with working at his industry, unable to stay away while his competitors were starting to shape up. Tony was barely in the mansion, either calling Clint to say high or being home for five minutes before being called out to leave again. It was February, and the last of Clint’s contracts had just been wrapped up in Norway and Director Fury was running out of jobs for Clint to take. Agent Coulson had given him a few as well, and Clint had even taken on a co-op mission with Natasha, but SHIELD was almost out of ideas when it came to Hawkeye’s missions and his temporary housing. Clint was trying to prolong his stay with Tony for as long as possible, but letting agents get away was against regulations and so he found it hard to stall. 

Now he was finished.

It was almost over. 

New Year’s Eve had been the last time Clint had really seen Tony, as they had both been invited to a party courtesy of James Rhodes, who was a fun guy who Clint could share stories about his time in the military force with. He and Tony hadn’t talked much, but Clint had seen him for more than five minutes. 

He and Tony had been dancing around each other since Christmas Day, and Clint had begun to think that they weren’t going to get anywhere at all when it came to actually getting together. They still hadn’t talked about The Kiss, and it had been so long that Clint had started mentally capitalising it, and was even considering emboldening it as well because he needed that conversation or he was going to implode from the amount of feelings he was repressing. 

When Clint was alone (which was all the time) he took to just wandering the house, cleaning his bows, talking to Steve or Natasha over the phone or sleeping. Both Steve and Natasha were still getting missions and Clint felt a mounting jealously at the amount of action they always seemed to get; but then again, they were Fury’s prize possessions. 

Being alone gave Clint time to brood, and when he brooded he got mean, by now he was ready to call Fury and demand a mission, any mission, or he would walk out.

Now that he thought of it though, Fury would probably let him.

The director seemed to have this theory with his agents: give them plenty of lead and let them choke you with it; when they’ve killed you they’ll realise their mistake and be better for it. Clint always thought it was a stupid theory, but every now and again he saw the outcomes of it. Like right now, when he was considering quitting. 

He was so bored.

///

Clint had to admit he felt a little like a loyal dog when Tony returned home and he launched himself at the genius, wrapping the shorter man in a tight embrace and holding firm.

“Goddammit Clint, this is bordering on Thor behaviour here” Tony responded softly, tapping the archer on the shoulder “I can’t breathe”

“Yeah well… I missed you, so man up” Clint countered lamely, closing his eyes and smiling widely.

When they pulled away the genius tapped the archer on the nose playfully and then waved the suitcase in his hand back and forth “I still have work, and this is still domestic” 

“Can we not talk about either of those things?” Clint half whined, perching himself on the couch Tony was headed to “I’m bored, I need entertainment”

“This… this is some incredibly trippy role reversal Clint” Tony replied, stopping only to piece his words together before sitting down on the couch and smirking “You also look like a bird” 

Clint rolled his eyes with a smile and stood “I’m assuming you want something in the form of a liquid?” He asked, eager to keep the conversation going for fear of being ignored for the next five hours or so.

“Scotch please. Something Blue or Black Labelled” the genius answered, raising a hand in thanks “If you were bored, you could have called a friend or something, surely you have a dozen contacts who share your interests in killing people” 

Clint returned to the room Tony was in with a scotch in his hand and as he handed it to the genius he explained the situation “All of my ‘friends’ are either busy or undercover or dead”

Tony grimaced and made a disproving sound in his throat “Okay, on a different subject how are you dealing with the whole Trickshot thing that we didn’t talk about?”

“I’m… I think I’m over it, I haven’t really had a chance to think it over but… it doesn’t trigger much beyond a feeling of regret that I couldn’t save him from what he’s become” Clint replied, sitting down on the opposite side of the couch and pulling his feet up and onto the couch. 

“That’s… I think that’s good” Tony responded slowly “My psych thinks I’m improving, I can’t say I disagree, the nightmares are gone and I don’t feel the need to fill my house with cameras anymore” 

Clint raised his hand in triumph with a gentle smile “Go Team Recovery” 

“Go Team Recovery” Tony repeated, smiling in return before turning his eyes to the papers he had stacked on his legs. 

“Maybe the company needs to gather their reigns a little better” Clint suggested, grinning when the genius chuckled and nodded in agreement, twirling the pen in his hands between his fingers.

They were silent for a moment before Tony spoke “You leave in a month”

“I know” Clint acknowledged, trying his best not to start getting sentimental. 

“I think I might miss the company… you know, the noise and the witticisms and… I think I’ll just miss you” The genius admitted, only looking up when he’d finished and smiling warmly. 

“I’ll miss you too Tony” The archer assured gently “For so many reasons, I mean, at the start of this thing, I thought that this would be painful for both of us… mainly me but… It’s been really great and I’m so glad I got to know you the way I have because now I… I see you”

“That was so Avatar” Tony quipped after a long beat of silence, and Clint was once again reminded of the genius’s talent for ruining touching moments “But I feel the same”

Another beat of silence passed before the genius spoke “I fixed your bike too, I would have added some extensions but I was two-tired”

“A bike joke?” Clint asked in a dead-pan tone, watching as the genius raised his eyebrows and grinned manically. 

They both laughed loudly for a moment, and then fell into simple conversation, talking about nothing, and while normally Clint would be bored: he wasn’t this time around, Tony and he had a knack for keeping a conversation interesting, and now he had put his thoughts together he knew that they worked, that they _could_ work. 

That they would work.


	21. The Final Score

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Epilogue to a long and dangerous journey.

“Now, the rule is that you will call, and that you will come around when I’m in New York because if you don’t I’ll find you and kill you, understand?” Tony nagged, helping the archer with his bags, perching the stuffed tiger from their night at the carnival on Clint’s shoulder as the archer waved to Agent Coulson, who was standing next to a SHIELD issued truck which was open to allow Clint to wheel his bike into the cool dark space and strap it in. 

“I will do all of those things” Clint assured “And you wouldn’t be able to kill me: I’m too good to be killed by a billionaire” 

“Sure you are” Tony quipped smiling as he helped the archer strap his bike down.

“Don’t let Natasha give you hell or anything: because she tends to do that to my friends and to my more-than-friends-but-not-quite-partners”

“That title’s too long” The genius chided “How about just ‘potential partners’?” 

Clint smiled and actually felt tears fighting their way out as he pulled the shorter man into a tight embrace “I’m going to miss you”

“This isn’t it: remember that… this is like intermission” Tony reassured, gentle hands tracing patterns on the archer’s back “I did see you naked” he whispered softly.

“Now who’s the weird one?” Clint asked playfully, only tightening his grip on the genius. 

“I’m not the one with a tiger on his shoulder” The genius quipped back smartly.

“Funny”

“I think so”

They pulled apart reluctantly and Clint sighed and pressed his lips to the genius’s briefly “Don’t change”

“I’m not planning on it Legolas” Tony assured, shoving his hands into his pockets. 

Clint turned away and nodded to Coulson, who smiled and climbed into the driver’s seat as Clint closed the back of the truck and then came around to the passenger’s side, catching Tony raising a hand in goodbye.

Only issue was that the way his fingers were placed made the wave goodbye look like something out of Star Trek. 

As he got in the car his assumption was confirmed when the genius yelled “Live long and prosper!” as the vehicle pulled away. 

Clint found himself laughing, and even though he wasn’t coming back for a while; he knew he would see Tony Stark again. 

And this time he wouldn’t be calling Fury to protest.

///

It was late at night in New York when he was waving Coulson off, picking up his bags and trudging up the stairs to his apartment building which was on the third floor. He entered the room and dropped his bags at the door, falling onto his couch and instantly missing the feel of expensive furniture. He sighed contentedly however, because he had missed home.

His clock ticked softly in the distance, and the apartment was silent but for the sound of other tenants of the building passing through the hallway. 

Clint sat up suddenly then: he didn’t have a clock.

That ticking was a bomb.

Clint Barton’s story will continue in the next instalment of the series: You’re Out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it! That's Three Strikes all wrapped up in a neat little cliff-hanger bow! Thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed, bookmarked, and added kudos to this fic, I appreciate every one and it helps me to try and get the sequel to the sequel written faster! I will be posting more Ironhawk works to keep me busy.
> 
> Thanks for everything! I hope you enjoyed Three Strikes.


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